Shelter Me
by Maz Kazama
Summary: At the time, Sam hadn't even wanted an older brother and John had wanted another son for all the wrong reasons. Over the years, Sam came to accept his unwanted, unloved big brother as one of the family and John....just didn't. Child abuse, Dean!whump etc
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Shelter Me 1/?****

Pairings: None (Genfic)  
**  
Spoilers:**Nothing major or recent but I'll post a warning at the beginning of a chapter if there are any potential spoilers. it's a preseries AU so there shouldn't me much.  
**  
Summary:**At the time, Sam hadn't even wanted an older brother and John had wanted another son for all the wrong reasons. Over the years, Sam came to accept his unwanted, unloved big brother as one of the family and John...just didn't.  
**  
Warnings:**Child abuse, non-graphic references to past sexual abuse of a minor (not by John), lots of Dean whumping, language. John is _not _a good father to Dean in this fic so if that might upset you, please don't read it.

**AN:** Okay, this is a little self indulgent but, meh, we all deserve a little self-indugence once in a while right? As I said before, John is a bit of a bastard in this fic, that's not how I see him in the show but it's how he is here. It's unbetad for fear of completely overloading **smokeyhorse** so it might be a little ropier than my other fics. Anyway, this note is longer than everything else put together so it's probably time to crack on with the fic.

Chapter 1

Sam had never wanted an older brother – the four year old was perfectly happy having his Daddy all to himself. And so, no matter how exciting his Daddy pretended this trip was going to be, Sam knew it was _not _going to be fun since, when it ended, Sam would no longer be an only child, and anything that meant that could _not _be fun.

"Come on, Sam. You know Daddy gets money for taking one of these kids home, right?" Daddy asked they stood waiting at the red light.

Sam nodded sulkily in response, he knew, but he didn't care. He would rather have second hand clothes and toys than have some strange kid living in the house - in _his _house.

"We can get you some nice new toys, wouldn't you like that?" Dad asked as the light turned to green and they started driving again.

Sam _would _like that but the fact that they were moving again and that meant getting closer to the care home, to the _new _kid, was enough to have him pouting and shaking his head as he slumped further down his seat until he could hardly see out of the window; he didn't want to see that stupid care home anyway.

"No?" Daddy smiled, looking out of the corner of his crinkly brown eyes, "Not even…a new bicycle?"

Now _that _was something different altogether. Bikes weren't just 'toys', they were way cooler – so much better than Action Men and footballs. Sam hadn't known a whole real bicycle was up for grabs.

"A _red _one?" He asked hopefully, sitting back up in the car seat and fixing his Daddy with wide, helpful eyes. Daddy's nod had him grinning from ear to ear; a whole new bike all to himse-

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, sport?"

"Will the new kid get to ride my bike?" He asked warily. If the new kid got to ride it then it wouldn't just be _Sam's _bike and then it wasn't so cool.

"No son," Daddy assured him with a smile. "This money is just for you and Daddy, you understand?"

Sam nodded eagerly, anything that was 'just' for him and Daddy was awesome. It meant Daddy trusted him and no one else, and, since Daddy was the coolest person in the world, that meant that Sam was cool too.

"You know Daddy likes to have a drink sometimes and Daddy needs to pay the bills. You're starting school in a few months Sammy, we're going to need money for your books and things."

Sam nodded. He knew his Daddy couldn't have a normal job because he was so busy saving the world from monsters and ghosts and stuff. Sam thought his Daddy was so cool that people in the shops should give him things for free, but Daddy had explained that monsters and demons had to be a secret so that ordinary people didn't get scared; Daddy was so kind like that.

"This new kid will mean Daddy can do all that stuff _and _buy you nice new things."

"Will you buy _Them_ new things too?" Sam asked, not bothering to disguise the resentment in his voice and hoping the answer would be no. Sam wanted his Daddy's special treatment just for himself; it wasn't special if some new kid got to share it. Especially not some new kid who wouldn't even be Daddy's proper son.

"No Sammy, you're Daddy's special boy, these things are just for you." John gave a wink as he pulled into a parking space and stopped the car.

Sam realised, as a nervous, jittery feeling came over him, that they were _here _and, in a matter of hours, he'd be walking out with a new big brother. Only now the idea didn't seem so bad after all.

* * *

John Winchester looked through the one-way window at the sullen kid leaning against the wall in the next room and sighed.

He's read the file; Dean Michaels, eight years old, in the system for four years since the death of his mother in a house fire, eight different foster families in half as many years - a 'troubled' child. The kid was thin, scruffy looking, moody and unsociable; he was the opposite of bright young Sammy in every way, and he was just what John needed.

"Now, Mr. Winchester, we understand that you are a…single parent."

The distaste in the social worker's tone caught John's attention and he nodded solemnly in response, disguising his annoyance under a genuine mask of pain as he remembered Mary's death.

"Yes, since the death of my wife, I have been bringing up Sammy alone. I haven't felt comfortable bringing another female influence into his life so soon,"

So that wasn't _exactly _truthful, Jim Murphy and Robert Singer had made sure he was never alone in bringing up his boy, but John needed to make a good impression here and he'd stopped feeling guilty about lying the first time one of his fake credit cards had come through.

"I see," the social worker, whose name John couldn't remember nodded again and glanced over her notes.

"You work at Robert Singer's Salvage Yard, is that correct?"

God this was boring, John wanted a drink.

"Yes ma'am," he lied politely, grateful for the fact that Bobby had simply obliged with John's request and not asked _why _he needed a CV faking. Robert Singer understood that gritty world of hunting well but John thought that _this _would be beyond even him. Still, Bobby's loss; with the money John would get from fostering this kid he'd be able to track down the thing that killed Mary much more effectively since he wouldn't be wasting his time running credit card scams and hustling pool of a night.

"It is very important that Dean isn't left unattended, you _do _understand that don't you?" The irritating woman asked patronisingly.

John had to make a conscious effort not to roll his eyes, he wasn't a patient man and this was already taking longer than he had expected. Hell, the home were practically begging someone to take the annoying kid off their hands, the money packet John would be getting each month was evidence enough of that, what was with the twenty questions?

"_If_ for some reason I'm in the position where I need to leave Sammy unattended I leave him in the care of Pastor James Murphy, his contact number is there if you need clarification," John replied with indignance that was only half-faked.

He'd never leave Sammy alone, not for too long anyway, not long enough to put him in danger. Fair enough he didn't have any intentions of taking the same precautions with _Dean _but the annoying social worker couldn't know that and he'd appreciate the benefit of the doubt from her. Besides, Dean was eight years old now, old enough to take care of himself as far as John was concerned.

"I see," the social worker replied flatly and John watched as she tried to come up with another 'problem'. Well screw it, he'd been through all this crap already and they _needed_ him to take this kid, time for _him _to get on the offensive.

"Look, I've been thoroughly screened by the staff here and I was told that I would be able to adopt Dean today. If that's not the case then I'd like to leave; Samuel will be getting restless out there without me." John stood up and pushed his chair under the desk as he spoke.

The social worker paused briefly and John smirked as he saw her eyes narrow in annoyance. He'd won this one, just like he'd known he would.

"No!" The social worker quickly stood up too, "As Dean's social worker I just like to make sure," She explained and John watched as some of the coldness left the woman's eyes.

"Of course you do," he nodded with false sincerity, walking to the side of the desk and placing a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Dean's mother was very cruel to him and some of his foster placements have been...less than desirable," the woman admitted falteringly, her eyes shimmering with the beginnings of tears. "I just wanted to make sure he'll never be placed into that kind of environment again. I didn't mean to be accusatory, Mr. Winchester."

"I understand."

"Well, our screening is rigorous as you well know. The lack of a female presence will be of a comfort to Dean until he's ready to face the memories of his mother's abuse. I'm sure Dean is being placed into a very loving home."

John nodded wordlessly and didn't break into a smirk until the woman left to collect the boy. Rigorous screening? Dean Michaels was John's way out of poverty and that was all - a convenience achieved through aliases and lies.

John sat back down and sighed in satisfaction at the situation, everything was going to plan and nothing Dean Michaels or that social worker bitch could do was going to ruin it, John would make sure of that.

* * *

"That's Daddy's car, it's an Im-pa-la," Dean's new brother told him smugly as they walked through the car park.

"Well remembered, Sammy," the man, Dean's new Dad, smiled as he ruffled the kid's hair and Dean found himself almost smiling too. It _was _a cool looking car and he was gonna get to ride in it! None of his other families had had cars that looked this expensive before. As they approached car, Dean could tell it was even _clean_.

"I get to sit up front!" 'Sammy' blurted as soon as Newdad started rooting for his keys, "I still get to sit up front, don't I Daddy?"

"Of course you do, sport, who else would I want riding by my side?" Newdad grinned again as he unlocked the door and Sammy stuck his tongue out triumphantly at Dean before clambering into the front seat.

"_You_ sit in the back and keep quiet." Well...Newdad sure wasn't smiling now. Dean wasn't sure if he'd done something wrong or if the Winchesters were just going to be one of _those _families.

Still he obeyed, slipping silently into the back seat. As he looked through the gap between the two front seats, Dean could see the care home through the windscreen; the front door was still open, he could just run back inside, tell Miss Wright he was scared and he didn't want to live with this man. But...as mean as Newdad had just been, he still wasn't anywhere as mean as Mr. Morton; Dean would rather take his chances with Newdad and Sammy than have to live with that guy again.

"This is Sammy, _you _call him Sam," Newdad peered over his shoulder at Dean and pointed to Sammy who was now just Sam.

"H-hi Sam," Dean said politely.

Sam ignored him.

"My name is John, youcall me 'Sir'."

"Yes Sir," Dean nodded fearfully, squirming nervously in his seat.

"Now sit still and shut up."

As the car reversed away from nearest thing he had to a home, Dean sat still and didn't say a word.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam watched from the doorway as Dean unpacked his things. It was a good job Dean only had a small rucksack of stuff because Daddy had given him the smallest room in the house and there wasn't room for much. Sam thought that was a little weird because there was a bigger room that Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby sometimes slept in when they visited just down the hall but Daddy had said that if they put Dean in there, where would Jim and Bobby stay and Sam hadn't wanted Daddy to get the idea of putting Dean in _his _room so he'd shut up about it.

"You got anything cool in there?" he asked as he watched Dean take out another crumpled tee shirt.

"Uhm...I got some comic books," Dean smiled, reaching into the bag again and pulling out a couple of faded comics. Sam turned his nose up as Dean passed them to him; the paper was old and dusty, some of the edges were torn and curled over and, as he flicked through, he was shocked to see that there were pages missing. On top of all that;

"These are _old_," he pouted, throwing them onto the floor in disgust and smirking at his new brother's hurt expression – Dean might be older by a whole four years but no one was gonna boss _him _around! ...Well, apart from Daddy sometimes.

"_Hey!_" Dean yelled, bending down and picking the comics and the lose pages that had scattered around Sam's feet. "Don't throw them!"

"What?" Sam pouted as Dean glared at him, "They're all ripped anyway! You don't even take proper care of them!"

"I do!" Dean shot back, clutching the pages tightly to his chest. "They're mine anyway, I can do what I want with them! Get lost!"

Sam could feel his bottom lip quivering as he tried to figure out what just happened; no one had ever told him to 'get lost' before, not even Daddy.

"I'm not gonna get lost!" he yelled back, blinking away his tears because crying was for babies and he was four years old now. "You're the one who's gonna get lost cos...cos you don't know your way round the house cos it's not your house, it's mine!"

"Sam? What are you yelling about?"

Sam could feel his eyes welling with tears as he heard Daddy thumping up the stairs and across the landing.

"Dean was _mean _to me!" Sam wailed as Daddy came and stood next to him, pointing accusingly at the older boy. "He yelled at me cos I accidentally dropped his stupid comic books!"

"Go downstairs, Sammy, I'll deal with this."

Daddy sounded cross now and Sam grinned, that would teach Dean to be mean to him. Dean would probably be too scared to even tell on him that he hadn't really 'dropped' the comics. Sam stopped grinning as he reached the bottom of the stairs...maybe it had been kinda bad to lie like that. Daddy always said it was wrong to tell lies...but Dean deserved it, Dean shouldn't have been so nasty to him!

"You think you got the right to come into _my_ home and act like a jerk to _my_ son?"

Wow, Daddy was being really loud. Sam was glad Daddy wasn't shouting at _him _like that.

"N-no Sir, I didn't- " Dean sounded scared, real scared.

"You calling my boy a _liar_ now?" John yelled and Sam bit down on his lower lip. Dean hadn't really called him a liar, had he? Maybe he had whispered it just now. Yeah, he probably whispered it cos he was too much of a scaredy-cat to say it to Sam's face.

"You've been here and hour and already you start screaming at my family, accusing them of lying!"

Sammy wondered if maybe he should say that Dean hadn't really 'screamed' and that he hadn't called him a liar even though Sam _had _told a bad lie that had got Dean in big trouble. But Daddy knew what he was doing, Daddy was always right.

"I-"

"Is it these? You think you deserve these after you treat me and my family like trash?"

Sam could hear Daddy moving in the room and he was scared because Daddy was stomping even louder than usual. This was all stupid Dean's fault, now Daddy was in a bad mood and Sam probably wouldn't be allowed to go buy an ice cream when the ice cream truck came round.

"No! No those are mine! Get off!"

Dean was yelling again and Sam really wanted to go upstairs and see what was happening but at the same time, he didn't want to see his Daddy so cross. Anyway, Daddy had told him to stay downstairs and Sam was a good boy who did what Daddy said, not like Dean who was in trouble already.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do! Give me those right now or you'll regret it!"

Sam clamped his hands over his ears as Daddy yelled even louder.

"Ow, no! Get off me!"

He could hear a thumping noise that sounded kinda like someone falling over and then his Daddy stomping out of the room and back down the stairs.

"Hey, Sammy-boy..."

And then Daddy was back to normal and Sammy was so happy he almost (_almost_) started crying again as he threw his arms round his Dad.

"He's not going to be mean to you about those comic books again," Daddy promised and Sam stopped smiling because he'd told a lie and he felt bad hugging Daddy cos he knew Daddy would be mad at him if he knew.

"Now look Sammy, Dean is a bad boy, that's why his Mummy and Daddy didn't want to look after him," Daddy told Sam in his serious voice and Sam nodded to show he was listening."If he does something bad again, you must tell me so I can teach him a lesson."

Sam nodded earnestly; Daddy was trusting him, Sam wouldn't let him down.

"I will, Daddy," he promised solemnly – he'd tell Daddy every little thing; no way was Sam Winchester gonna let Dean screw up his family.

* * *

Dean dusted off his clothes as he pulled himself to his feet and tried to think about what had just happened. He could already tell, as he craned his neck and stared at the red mark blossoming on his arm, that this was going to be one of _those _families. Then again, he shouldn't be surprised any more – the only type of families that wanted to sponsor a kid as old as him were _these _kinds of families. Families that fought and yelled and...hurt. Dean sometimes wondered if these types of families were as uncommon as Miss Wright tried to convince him they were.

"We'll find you the right place," she had promised him but Dean knew better than to trust promises from adults anymore. The boy wasn't even sure there was a right place for him. Mr. Morton had always told him he was a freak and it was true, why else would John be so nice to Sam and Miss Wright and everyone else and just be mean to Dean?

Maybe he'd got it wrong, maybe Mr. Winchester was right and he had just tripped. After all, why would a man who seemed so nice to everyone shove him over? Then again, why would a man who seemed so nice rip up Dean's comics in front of his face and throw them at him?

Dean sighed as he looked at the tattered pieces of paper all around him. He'd read them all cover to cover at least a hundred times before, he already knew all the pictures and the speech bubbles off by heart but still...they were _his_. The only things he had that were fun.

He was obviously going to have to just stop arguing with Sam and then maybe John wouldn't have a reason to yell at him.

As Dean knelt down and gathered up the torn papers from the floor, he couldn't help but wish that someone could just love him all the time instead of only when he was good.

Why did Sammy get a Daddy that loved him and hugged him even though he was a total brat and Dean got shoved around when he hadn't even done anything?

At eight years old and unfortunately wise or his age, Dean already knew the answer – 'Life's not fair' and, for him, it never would be, he was sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hi everyone, thank you so much for you lovely reviews.** **Lomer is helping me to get rid of my Birtishisms now so hopefully the chapters might be a bit less English sounding, lol. **

Chapter 3

"Watcha doin'?"

Dean wanted to curse as Sam flung the door open. The resulting gust of wind caused the ripped pages of his comics, which he'd spent the last half hour painstakingly fitting back together, to fly off the bed and land in a disorganised heap at his feet...again.

Dean wanted to smack the annoying brat, he really did, but he could just imagine how well _that _would go down with Daddy-dearest so the young boy settled for curling his hands into fists and muttering "Nothing."

"What happened to your comics?" Sam sounded aghast as he walked uninvited into Dean's room, finally noticing the ripped up pages littering the floor.

"You should put your trash in the trash can," he told Dean smugly, "Otherwise it's lit-ter-ing. I saw that on a sign once, Daddy told me it's when lazy people don't clean up after themselves and make it a mess for everyone else. It's rude to make a mess in someone else's house you know, Dean, 'specially when there's a trash can just over there."

The kid finally paused for breath as he pointed solemnly to the wicker wastebasket in the corner of Dean's tiny room.

"It's not trash," Dean countered sullenly, "It's my comics."

"Well why did you rip them up if you still wanna read them?" Sam questioned curiously and Dean wondered if it would be worth telling the kid to get lost again, even if it meant Mr. Winchester being mad at him again.

"That's dumb, Dean. You can't read comics when they're all ripped up. You shouldn't have torn them if you still wanted to read them."

And Dean wanted to know why the hell he was getting lectured by a four year old - the four year olds at the group home had had better sense than talk back to him like that.

Then again, the four year olds at the home hadn't had huge, grown-up body guards called John Winchester ready to protect them from the tiniest little insult.

"_I _didn't rip them up," Dean explained, scooping the pages off the floor and stuffing them hastily into his backpack, away from the whirlwind of annoyance that was Samuel Winchester.

"Your Dad did," Dean continued, "Because I was 'mean' to you." The eight year old risked adding air quotes to show his sarcasm since he was pretty sure Sam wouldn't know what it meant.

"Happy now?" The boy added sarcastically in the face of Sam's open-mouthed silence.

"Daddy wouldn't do that..."

And then the kid sounded so _small _and _babyish_ that Dean immediately felt guilty for arguing with him. This Sam kid was smart for his age and, somewhere along the way, Dean must've forgotten that the kid was just four years old. A spoiled, bratty, over-protected, big-headed four-year old, but a four year old just the same.

"Daddy's nice, he's a nice man, he helps people, he protects them from-"

Sam clamped his hands over his mouth suddenly before he had chance to finish the sentence and Dean couldn't help but feel curious. He couldn't imagine the moody, aggressive John Winchester protecting _anyone _from _anything_. Well, apart from maybe Sammy from seemingly everything.

"Daddy's good, he wouldn't rip up your comics. Why are you telling lies? It's bad to tell lies. I'm gonna tell Daddy you've been saying bad things about him and he'll be upset with you. He rescued you from that horrible home place where they didn't even _want _you and brought you here and you're already being...being..."

Throughout Sam's tirade, Dean could see the kid's face getting redder and redder, chubby little hands were curled into fists at the boy's sides and Dean braced himself for what looked to be the worst insult Sam could come up with.

"Being **bad**!" Sam declared furiously and Dean had to admit, the kid had spirit, more spirit than most of the kids at the home anyway, even if his insult didn't even touch on all the name's Dean had been called before.

"I'm gonna tell Daddy now," Sam announced haughtily and Dean felt his admiration quickly turning into panic. He couldn't get in trouble with John again, not so quickly! The boy didn't mind getting shoved around some more, he was kinda used to that, but Mr. Winchester might take his comic books away for good this time – maybe throw them in the trash like Sam said or even burn them or something and Dean couldn't risk that.

"No! Sam, wait! Please!"

Sam stopped in the doorway, his arms folded across the front of his Superman tee shirt.

"I-I'm sorry." Apologising to a four-year old for something he hadn't even done, it didn't get much more embarrassing than that.

"You're only sorry cos I'm gonna tell," Sam pouted and Dean sighed; the kid was _way _too smart for a four year old.

"Sam! Dinner!"

It was the first time Dean had felt relieved at hearing John Winchester's voice as Sam almost instantly seemed to forget all about 'telling' and turned to Dean with a beaming grin.

"C'mon Dean, it's pizza tonight, Daddy makes the best pizza!"

Dean nodded warily as they made their way downstairs, he couldn't ignore the fact that John hadn't shouted _him _for dinner. He wasn't sure if he was even _allowed _any of this supposedly amazing homemade pizza.

"Sam." Dean kept his voice low as they entered the kitchen. "If your Dad made this himself then why is it in a takeout box?"

It shouldn't feel this satisfying to get one-up on a four year old but, even at eight years old and with less than 24 hours of experience with his new family, Dean was beginning to realise that a one-up against Sammy Winchester was a chance not to be missed.

"'Cos that's where pizzas come from," Sam replied patronisingly and, before Dean had a chance to argue, the young boy was bouncing over to his father.

"We need three plates at dinner time now, Daddy!" He announced happily before his over excited features crumpled into a look of panic.

"I still get to have the Power Rangers plate, don't I Daddy?" he asked worriedly. "Tell Dean he can't have my plate!"

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, like he would care about some dumb plate anyway, but he thought better of it. Mr. Winchester was looking at him now and the boy didn't want to do anything else that would put his comics at risk.

"This is yours," Dean flinched as John slammed a plate down on the end of the table.

"Yes Sir," he replied as he took his place at the table.

"Three is one more than two - did you know that, Dean?" Sam explained with a smile.

The eight year old almost sighed in annoyance when the younger boy made to clamber up to sit next to him but he didn't get the chance as John quickly steered the boy away and pointed to a seat at the end of the table furthest away from Dean.

Dean looked down to hide his scowl; John thought he was being nasty but he wasn't, Dean hadn't even wanted to sit near Sam anyway, John had done Dean a favour.

"Pay attention."

Dean jumped at the sound of John's voice and looked up in time to see the man pushing an almost-empty pizza box at him. There was one slice left and Dean quickly scraped it onto his plate, trying to ignore the fact that Sam, the tiny little squirt got two and John got three. Well Sam was such a shrimp he wouldn't be able to even fit two slices of pizza in him and John, well, he wouldn't be able to shove Dean around so much when he got fat.

The boy almost giggled at the thought of a big fat version of Mr. Winchester trying to chase after him and not being able to keep up, but, fortunately for him, his mouthful of pizza stopped him.

The one meagre slice was soon gone and Dean spent the remainder of the time poking around on his plate for any stray crumbs as he watched Sam and John finish their meals.

"Get me a beer."

It took Dean a couple of seconds to realise that John was talking to _him _and not Sam and he hoped it wasn't long enough for John to get mad. It would be a lot easier to figure out who Mr. Winchester was talking to if he would just use Dean's name sometimes.

"Fridge, bottom shelf." John barked as Dean looked confusedly around the unfamiliar kitchen.

"I want juice!" Sam announced as Dean routed around in the fridge for Mr. Winchester's beer. It didn't take long to find, there sure was a lot of it, and Dean gulped - lots of beer in the fridge was just another sign that this was going to be one of _those _families.

"Get Sam some juice," John ordered as Dean placed the can down on the table and quickly began searching for juice and glasses.

"Please may I have a drink Sir?" he asked nervously as he poured Sam's orange carefully into a glass.

"There's water in the tap," John answered with a sneer and Dean tried not to make his disappointment too obvious as he screwed the cap back on the bottle of juice and put it back in the cupboard.

His eyes tracked the glass of orange longingly as he placed it in front of his new little brother. Still, at least if Sam was happy, Dean might be able to drink his water in peace.

"Daddy! Dean made the wrong juice!"

Dean sighed, keeping Sammy Winchester quiet was _not _easy.

"I wanted apple! I always have apple on Tuesdays!"

"Christ kid, you really are a retard aren't you?"

Dean couldn't help but gasp at that and he bit down on his bottom lip to stop it quivering. Mr. Winchester had never been _this _mean to him before. The man had been cold and stern and had even shoved him a little but...he hadn't really called him any names.

"I'm not a retard!" the boy yelled back angrily and then shrank away from the glare Mr. Winchester shot at him.

"I brought you back from that home, gave you your own room, a hot meal and all I've asked is that you pour Sammy a drink. You couldn't even manage to get that right."

Dean could feel his head shaking from side to side even though he couldn't remember telling it to. That wasn't how it happened...was it?

But Mr. Winchester sounded so sure and Dean knew that he'd missed too much school to be smart. Why else would he have screwed up twice already if he wasn't dumb?

"Ice cream truck!"

Sam's cry of joy as he heard the familiar music of an ice cream truck pulling into the estate was so innocent and happy that Dean could find it within himself to believe that Sam had got him into trouble on purpose.

"Can me and Dean get ice creams, Daddy, pleeeeaaaase?"

Dean couldn't help but smile despite the earlier argument. Sammy was asking for an ice cream for him, Sammy didn't hate him. And boy, how great would it be if he got to get an ice cream?

"Go get yourself something, Sammy," John smiled as he pressed a dollar into the palm of Sam's chubby palm.

"But-"

Dean had to look away from the confusion in Sam's eyes. Maybe now the boy was finally realising that his Daddy wasn't always a nice guy. Dean hated that it was kind of his fault.

"I don't think Dean deserves a desert after how he's behaved today," John explained, not even glancing at Dean as he spoke. "What have I always told you, Sammy?"

"Good things happen to good people," Sam answered automatically, pouting as he did so.

"Calling you a liar, telling you to get lost, giving you the wrong drink..."

"And he told a lie to me!" Sam added enthusiastically, eager to gain John's approval.

Dean felt his heart rate speed up, he was so dumb to have expected braniac Sammy to have forgotten about that. Dumb, dumb, dumb – just like usual.

"Do you think good people are rude and tell lies?" John asked patronisingly and Sammy shook his head firmly, his brown curls swinging dramatically.

"So," John smiled, "Just one ice cream then."

"Thanks Daddy!" Dean had never seen little Sam move so fast as he watched the boy run out of the front door.

And then he was left alone with John and, from look on the man's face, Dean knew he was in big trouble. As he watched the huge man stalk towards him, Dean could only hope that Sammy would hurry back as quickly as he had left.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again to lomer for helping me get rid of my Britishisms! Thank you so much for all your nice reviews everybody, they've really cheered me up!

Chapter 4

Dean was used to staying awake until late. Not just the kind of late where he was up an hour past lights-out reading with a flashlight, but the kind of late where it was between night and morning - the kind of late where, when he looked out of the window, there were no lights on in the houses.

He wished he had a window to look out of right now, it might make this tiny little room feel a bit bigger. He wasn't sure what time it was but he figured it was probably still daylight; John had sent him to bed before Sammy had come back from the ice cream truck.

Of course that had been after he'd 'laid down the ground rules'. Dean shuddered at the memory.

"_Listen, boy, this is my house, and my rules and what I say goes, got it?" _

Dean had nodded and tried not to flinch as John gripped his arm bruisingly tight, dragging Dean forward until they were closer together.

"_Answer me when I ask you a question!" _John had bellowed, right in his face, and Dean had nodded fearfully.

"_Yes, Sir." _Dean had hoped Mr. Winchester would let go of his arm once he answered but that hadn't happened and Dean had tried not to show how much it hurt.

"_Now pay attention. My Sammy is a bright kid and a good kid and I __**don't **__want him socialising with little bastard delinquents like __**you**__."_

As he lay on the bed, Dean still didn't know what a 'delinquent' was or how he could stop being one. Maybe he would ask Miss Wright when she came for her visit in a few days.

"_You stay out of his way and you stay out of my way or you know what'll happen?" _

Dean hadn't wanted to make the mistake of not answering one of John's questions again, still horribly aware of how tightly Mr. Winchester was squeezing his arm, so he'd quickly stammered out his answer.

"_Y-you'll send me back to the home, Sir?"_

Mr. Winchester had smirked then, a cruel, frightening look that had reminded Dean so much of Mr. Brown that he'd frozen up in terror. Mr. Winchester either hadn't noticed or hadn't or hadn't cared, simply laughing in Dean's face.

"_You should be so lucky," _he'd sneered, _"You screw up like you did today again and I will beat__you to within an inch or your life, got that?"_

Dean had wanted to answer, terrified of making Mr. Winchester even angrier with him, but his throat wasn't working and his mouth was all dry and all the words he wanted to say were stuck in his chest. He'd nodded though, desperately, pleadingly and that had been good enough for his foster father who'd shoved him to the floor and ordered him up to his room which is where the young boy found himself now.

Man, he should have known this was too good to be true. Miss Wright had told him that John was a nice man; that he built cars (which Dean had thought sounded really cool) and he had a nice little boy for Dean to play with. Well Mr. Winchester wasn't nice and neither was his tattle-tale son, Dean wouldn't be surprised if it turned out Mr. Winchester didn't build cars at all and if he did, Dean knew now that he wouldn't be allowed to help out or even watch.

Dean studied the angry red marks on his arm and wondered if this was worse than being in the group home. His room was a lot smaller than the one at the home but then again he didn't have to share it with any other boys which was definitely better. Dean remembered lying there in his dorm listening to the other boys talking and whispering, some of them crying, some of them caught in a bad dream. His room was cramped and cold but at least it was quiet.

Then there was the food. Dean still felt hungry from only having one slice of pizza but that one slice had tasted better than anything from the home. Maybe when he stopped screwing up so much he'd be allowed more to eat, maybe even an ice cream like Sammy.

That just left his new 'family' to think about; John Winchester was big and scary and mean but so was Mr. Brown and so far Mr. Winchester hadn't done any of...those things to him which made him a nicer man than Mr. Brown as far as Dean was concerned. Not _nice_, just nic_er_ Plus he knew that if he _did _go back, Mr. Brown would 'make up for lost time' as he called it. Dean didn't want that, not one bit.

Even if he _did _want to go back, he didn't know how to get there. Miss Wright had given him a number to call in case he needed her but Dean didn't dare risk Mr. Winchester catching him using the telephone. Plus he wasn't sure if Miss Wright would be mad with him for calling her. After all, he didn't really _need _her, he just _wanted _to see someone who would be nice to him, until she had to go to her next meeting or see one of the other kids at least.

Dean quickly wiped away the tears forming in his eyes, he needed to stop acting like such a _girl_, he just needed to tough this out and be a good boy and then Mr. Winchester wouldn't have a reason to be mean to him and Sammy would start to like him. He could do that...right?

Sam frowned as he watched Dean pretending to sleep on the bed. He knew Dean wasn't _really _sleeping because it was only seven o'clock and bedtime wasn't until half past seven, when the big hand was at six and the little hand was at seven.

"Dean!" Sam didn't want to yell too loudly in case Daddy got mad with him; Daddy didn't like yelling, especially not in the mornings when he had one of his special headaches. Instead he decided on poking his new big brother in the shoulder, for as long as it took.

Luckily, it didn't take long for Dean to pretend to wake up and he was soon sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sammy thought Dean was a good actor, his new brother had even looked confused for a few seconds like he didn't know where he was. Sam wasn't dumb though, Daddy always told him he was a clever smart boy, and he was sure Dean wouldn't go to bed before bedtime because only losers did that. Why would you want to go to bed when you could play with your toys for a whole 'nother half an hour instead?

"Why are you in your room?" he asked as the older boy swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Because Mr. Winchester told me to," Dean shrugged and Sam sighed solemnly, his big brown eyes shining with pity for his new big brother- Dean was very stupid sometimes.

"His name isn't Mr. Winchester, it's Daddy," Sam explained seriously.

Dean simply looked away and shrugged and Sam pouted – Daddy was right, Dean _was _ungrateful...maybe he didn't deserve Sam's present.

Then again, Sam had told a bad lie and he didn't want Dean telling on him to Daddy, especially not since Daddy seemed to be kinda grumpy when Dean was around. Stupid Dean, screwing everything up just like Sam had known he would.

"I got you these," Sam muttered as he tossed a couple of his comics onto his bed. They were old ones (not as old as Dean's had been of course) and he'd read them before so he didn't mind giving them to Dean _too _much, especially since Dean must be pretty bored in this room by himself without any teddy bears or toys to play with. Maybe Daddy would buy Dean some toys when they went shopping for Sam's bike.

"New comics?" Dean sounded shocked as he picked them up and Sam grinned - he'd made Dean smile, not even Daddy had been able to do that.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, before panicking as Dean moved to tuck the comics into his bag. "If I say I want them back you have to give them to me!" he blurted, only relaxing when Dean nodded.

"I promise."

"And...and you have to be nice to me if you wanna keep them," Sam continued.

"I will be," Dean agreed and Sam narrowed his eyes;

"Forever and ever?" he wheedled.

"And ever and ever," Dean answered and Sam giggled,

"And ever and ever?" he questioned, beaming from ear to ear,

"And ever and ever and ever," Dean answered again, sending Sammy into another fit of giggles.

"And-"

"Sammy?!"

Sam froze at the sound of his Daddy's voice and saw Dean do the same.

"I'm here, Daddy," the four year old answered and he could hear his Daddy coming upstairs to find him.

"Sam, why didn't you tell me you were back from the ice cream truck?" John demanded and Sam ducked his head...he'd been in such a hurry to give Dean his comics he'd forgotten.

"I'm sorry Daddy, I forgot," he pouted, knowing what his Daddy was going to say now.

"You know I need to know that you're safe," John sighed and Sammy tried not to roll his eyes. Why did Daddy have to talk about this _all _the time?

"I know Daddy."

"I'm serious, Sammy, there are bad things out there, monsters that just love eating little boys, you don't want one of those to get you do you?"

Sam shook his head, he was so glad he had a Daddy strong enough to fight away monsters. His Daddy really was great.

"These creatures killed your Mommy, Sam," John said seriously and Sammy nodded, he knew this and it scared him. "So you understand why I need to know you're safe?" Daddy insisted and Sammy nodded again

"I know, Daddy, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, son, you're a good boy, it's naughty bad little boys like Dean that monsters like to eat best."

Daddy was smiling now but to Sam it didn't look like a happy smile. Dean looked upset too, didn't he know Daddy was just trying to help him be safe from the monsters? Sammy shivered, he wanted everyone to be happy again.

"Dean's going to be nice to me forever and ever and ever," he told Daddy with a smile but Daddy didn't even look at him when he answered, staring instead at Dean who was pressed in the corner of his bed.

"He'd better be..."

Sam frowned and pressed his head into Daddy's shoulder; Dean was making Daddy mad again and Sam didn't want to look at Daddy when he was mad.

"He'd better be," Daddy repeated scarily, "Or else."

And even though Sammy almost always wanted to know the answer to everything, this time he didn't dare ask his Daddy 'or else, what?'


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Okay everyone, I know this is going to be really difficult for some to read in the wake of the Baby P trial and I totally understand if it's too upsetting for some. Just please know that I mean no disrespect to the poor little boy and if ever met that bitch that thinks she has the right to call herself his 'mother' or those other two sickos, I'm only 5'4 but I would tear them limb from limb**. **Child abuse is the most disgusting thing on our planet**.

Chapter 5

"Daddy says you gotta wear this."

Dean stared down at the sweater held in Sam's outstretched arms. It was folded up...kind of, but Dean didn't believe for a second that it was new – Mr. Brown told him that foster kids don't get new clothes, especially not 'skinny little runts' like him and he was sure Mr. Winchester wouldn't waste any money on him.

"Why?" he asked petulantly. He _did _kind of want a new shirt, he'd been with the Winchesters for nearly a week now and he'd worn all his three tee shirts at least once, he knew they were gonna be starting to smell soon. Plus, it would be nice to have a shirt with long sleeves, especially since it was Fall and getting cold. But why couldn't Mr. Winchester have just told him himself instead of sending smug little Sammy? Dean knew he had to take orders from Mr. Winchester but taking orders from a freakin' four year old was just embarrassing!

"I folded it all nice for you," Sammy smiled and Dean looked away from the balled up sweater, feeling guilty; maybe he shouldn't be so mean about Sammy, the kid tried to be nice to him...most of the time. When it's just Dean and Sammy things aren't always so bad.

"Thanks, Sam." Dean tried to smile as he took the shirt from his little foster brother. He hoped the kid would leave him alone while he got changed but Sammy showed no signs of budging as he stood, arms folded, in the doorway.

"Daddy said I gotta tell you to 'make it fast'."

Dean would have laughed at hearing four year old Sammy's squeaky voice trying to imitate Mr. Winchester but there was nothing funny about Mr. Winchester, not at all. And then there was the idea of Sammy growing up to be like his Dad; Sammy was a good boy, Mr. Winchester loved him a lot and obviously Sammy loved his Daddy, would Sammy grow up to be mean like John? Would he grow up hating Dean too? Dean didn't like that idea at all, Sammy was one of the only people in his whole entire life who'd ever been nice to him, how long would it be before Sammy started acting like his Dad? How long before he started shoving Dean around too?

"Quickly, Dean!" Sammy huffed and Dean sighed hiding his frown of annoyance at Sam's pestering behind the thin fabric of his tee shirt. As he slipped the new shirt over his head he could hear Sammy gasping and he rolled his eyes.

"What now?"

"You got funny colours on your shoulder..." Sam whispered, tugging at Dean's sleeve.

Dean looked away...no way could he tell Sam that his 'amazing' Daddy had done this too him while Sammy had been out buying ice cream.

"Do they hurt?" Sammy asked, finally letting go of Dean's sleeve only to stand on his tip-toes and start poking the older boy's shoulder.

"Ow! Yeah they do so cut it out, shrimp," Dean grumbled, batting Sam's hand away.

Sammy looked thoughtful and Dean really wished the kid would drop it. Of course, of all the foster brothers he could have gotten, he ended up with Sammy 'I'm never gonna forget about anything' Winchester.

"Dean?" Sammy was whispering now and Dean had to bend down to hear the younger boy speaking. "Did the monsters get you?"

Dean sighed and tried to will his tears away as he stood back up.

"Dean!" The boy shivered at the sound of his foster father's voice echoing through the house.

"You can tell me," Sammy continued, oblivious to the fear in his brother's eyes. "Was it a monster that got you?"

Dean glanced down to the floor, he knew Mr. Winchester was just below them in the kitchen and the thought terrified him. After a few seconds he realised he still hadn't answered Sammy's question...did a monster get him?

"Something like that, Sam," he answered his brother with a shiver. "Something like that..."

* * *

John Winchester watched as the little punk that was his foster son made his way downstairs, little Sammy hot on his heels.

"Sammy go to the living room and play with your toys," he ordered his boy kindly, watching as the protests formed on his son's lips before he'd even finished the command.

"But, Daddy, Dean's got-"

"_Now_, Sammy!" John glared, knowing Sammy knew better than to push his luck when he was on the receiving end of _that _tone of voice.

"Yes, Daddy," Sam answered sulkily, trailing slowly off to the living room leaving John to focus his attentions on his new 'son'. John almost snorted at the thought - as if he would ever think of this pathetic little orphan brat as his son. The kid looked like someone had just pulled him off the streets, he was nothing like a Winchester should be – nothing like Sammy.

"You're already in a world of trouble, punk," he whispered harshly in Dean's ear.

"I suggest you don't screw up any more or else you and me are gonna have some _quality time _together." John emphasised his words by brutally pinching the back of Dean's neck. Dean nodded frantically and John smiled, suitably satisfied that the boy wouldn't fuck up.

He plastered a smile on his face as he ushered his son into the kitchen where that social worker bit was sat at _his _kitchen table. The stupid bitch wasn't supposed to have visited for another five days but she'd spun some bullshit about being 'in the area'. John wasn't stupid, he knew that whiny bitch Dean must have called her and he was going to make damn sure the brat paid for it. If the boy cost him his paycheque, well...the boy would never do it twice, John would make sure of that. For now though, he had to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

"Miss White!" Dean grinned as he walked into the kitchen, John made sure to keep a 'comforting' hand on the boy's shoulder, he was sure it looked good to the social worker and it would make sure Dean didn't forget himself.

"Hello, Dean. Why don't you take a seat?"

John steered his foster son to the nearest seat - he didn't want that social worker getting too close if he could avoid it.

"Mr. Winchester." The social worker nodded her head at a free chair and John fought to keep the sneer off his, since when did someone order _him _to sit down in his _own _house?

"You'll have to forgive us for the delay, Dean and Sammy were just playing upstairs," he smiled affectionately at his foster son but stared the brat straight in the eyes as he did so, he had to be careful because he knew Miss White was watching but what the hell, she could hardly accuse him of anything for just looking at his 'son' could she?

"Are you and Sammy making friends, Dean?" the woman asked and Dean nodded, glancing briefly at John who smiled to show his approval.

"Sam gave me some of his comics," Dean told the woman and John fought not to grin, this bitch had nothing on him.

"That's nice," the woman smiled gently. "And are you being nice to Sam?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean nodded again, "I like Sam."

"Good," the woman still had that inane smile on her face, John longed to slap it off her face. "Are you behaving for Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes ma'am." This time the boy's voice was almost a whisper and he wouldn't meet the social worker's eyes. The kid _knew _he'd fucked up, John surmised. That was good, it meant less time drawing the truth of the little punk and more time punishing him for it.

"Dean's very clear on the rules, aren't you son?" John asked and Dean just nodded again.

"What have you three been up to together then?" the woman asked cheerily.

John saw right through the manipulative bitch, trying to trick Dean into spilling the beans about him by disguising this as an ordinary conversation. Even little Sammy would have been able to see through her act, John was sure of it, but unfortunately, he'd gotten stuck with a little retard freak who'd never be able to figure it out.

"W-we shared a pizza," Dean stammered. "Mr. Winchester bought me new clothes."

The kid seemed to lose his nerve then, his hands fidgeting irritatingly in his lap as he stared at the table but the kid had said enough; it was all going to sound great on paper in the kid's file.

"And now we're just about to leave for groceries," John finished with a chirpy smile of his won, equally as fake as Miss White's.

"So..." he raised his eyebrows as he stood back up. "If you don't mind..."

"Of course," the woman nodded, her eyes as cold as steel. John had to fight not to smirk, as if this woman thought she could outwit a Winchester.

"Well, Dean, honey, you know my number," the woman smiled as John ushered her to the front door. "Be good for the Winchesters!"

_Obviously he knows your number_, John growled to himself as he waved the woman off. As soon as he heard the woman's car pull away he turned to stare at his foster son, any trace of fatherliness and comradery was gone as he glared daggers into the boy's wide, frightened eyes.

"You've got some explaining to do," was all he said before he began to teach the boy a lesson he would never forget.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN; Physical abuse in this chapter. **

Chapter 6

"Down."

Dean wanted to scream as he heard Mr. Winchester's cold, uncaring voice for what felt like the millionth time. They must have been here for hours now, maybe even days and Dean knew if they didn't stop soon his arms were gonna drop off, he was sure of it. His right arm hurt the most, the bruises were easy to see now since John had made him take his shirt off, but his left one was nearly as bad and they were both shaking as he held himself up. His shoulders screamed as he lowered himself again, his arms shaking furiously as he tried to hold the position.

He'd quickly learned that being 'down' hurt your shoulders and wrists more and being 'up' hurt your back and forearms more. But now just everything hurt; from his fingers spread wide on the floor, trying to take as much of his weight as possible to his toes cramping from their curled position. Heck, even his eyes hurt, stinging with sweat no matter how many times he blinked.

"Up."

Mr. Winchester sounded so bored and Dean risked a glance upwards as he heaved his upper body from the floor again. The man was seated in his armchair, swigging from a beer can as he stared down at Dean. The boy quickly dropped his eyes back to the floor, not wanting to give Mr. Winchester any more reason to punish him.

"Down."

It was hard to hold in his sob as he prepared himself for the ordeal of another push up – this wasn't _fair_. He hadn't called Miss White, he **hadn't** - he didn't even know where the dumb telephone _was_ in this house. But Mr. Winchester hadn't believed him when Dean had explained that, instead he'd called him a liar and dragged him into the living room all the while daring Dean to continue to _lie _to him. Dean hadn't known what to do since saying that he _had _called Miss White would be a lie and what if Mr. Winchester was just tricking him into telling a _real _lie? But Mr. Winchester obviously didn't believe him when he told the truth and he _really _didn't want the man any madder with him so Dean had just said what he thought the angry man wanted to hear in the hope that he would let go of his sore arm.

"Up."

He couldn't stop the groan that emerged from his lips as he forced his aching muscles to move once again and the dusty carpet just inches away from his face blurred out of focus as his eyes welled with tears. How much longer was he going to have to go through this? The boy sniffed as he tried to hold the painful position and tried to console himself with the fact that things could be a lot worse. This hurt a lot, it really, really did but at least he wasn't getting beat around the house or locked in the closet like at some other foster families.

"Down."

When Mr. Winchester had told him to take his shirt off, Dean had feared that he was going to have do the....the other sort of things. The things that Mr. Brown liked. When John ordered him to lie on his stomach he'd been even more afraid but the man had simply sat down in his chair and talked, or rather shouted, him through how to do a push up and then another, and another, and another and...

"Up."

Dean wondered if it was ever going to stop. Maybe Mr. Winchester was just going to keep doing this until Dean's arms dropped off or he died or something. Why did Miss White have to show up like that? Was she _trying _to get him in trouble or something? Maybe she didn't care about him either...maybe no one did.

"Down."

The minute he heard the all too familiar command, Dean knew he couldn't follow it. The minute he tried to move, his elbows buckled and he collapsed on the carpet, trying to breathe and cry and apologise at the same time.

"I'm sorry...Sir. I'm...I....I can't...my arms..."

He was panting now, too exhausted to even lift his head from the carpet to speak to his foster father. His arms prickled and tingled and hung uselessly from his shoulders, even as Dean willed them to move because Mr. Winchester was standing up and that meant Dean had to try and protect himself.

"Do you wanna know how many push ups you managed?" Mr. Winchester asked him as he towered over Dean's crumpled form. Dean just stared at the man's shoes, he had no idea what he should say to this. What was the point anyway? Mr. Winchester would probably yell at him no matter what he said.

"Twenty one," the man continued, apparently not caring whether Dean answered him or not.

Dean thought it had to be more than twenty one, it must have been a thousand at least, his arms couldn't hurt this much from just twenty one of something could they?

"You wanna know what that makes you?"

_Good?_ Dean wondered. _Strong?_ Twenty one was a pretty big number after all, you couldn't even count that using your fingers _and _toes.

"It makes you a pussy! A fucking girl!"

Dean whimpered as his foster father started yelling.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he whimpered, trying to get his trembling legs to work enough so he could stand up. All he managed to do though was curl them underneath him before Mr. Winchester put his boot on Dean's back, pressing him into the floor.

"Where do you think you're going, _girl_?" he taunted and Dean just closed his eyes and tried not to cry. He wasn't a girl...he liked cars and soccer and Superman and....boy stuff.

"Get on your back," John ordered, walking back to his armchair. Dean obeyed, squinting as he stared up at the harsh white ceiling. This was comfortable, lying on his back, he could just sleep here and then...

"Bend your fucking knees."

Dean did as he was told, flinching when John hurled his now empty beer can and it struck him on the stomach before bouncing off and rolling away somewhere into the living room.

"Round fucking two - sit ups," John chuckled and Dean hears the familiar click and hiss of a can opening.

Five minutes later Dean thought he might die of thirst before Mr. Winchester decided he'd been punished enough. His stomach cramped as he pulled himself up again and as he flopped back to the floor, weary and exhausted, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to pull himself up again.

It took him a few seconds to realise that Mr. Winchester hadn't told him to move again and he gasped. Was it over? Was it really over?

"Are you and Dean playing a game, Daddy?"

Dean shuddered at the sound of Sammy's voice.

"_No it's not a game!" _he wanted to yell. _"It's not a game and it's not fun!" _

"That's right."

Dean could _hear _the smile in John's voice even if he couldn't see it.

"Who's winning?" Sam asked and Dean could see his foster brother's feet coming into his line of vision. Hesitantly he looked upwards until he was staring the younger boy in the face.

"Who do you think?" John grinned and Sammy grinned too.

"Daddy!" the boy exclaimed and John nodded.

"Of course."

"I know cuz Dean's on the floor and he's all sweaty. You should get off the floor, Dean, that's not where you're meant to lie down. It's not is it, Daddy?" the boy rambled.

Dean should've be annoyed but if Sammy was distracting his Dad then that gave Dean a few seconds of rest before he had to do more sit ups.

"That's right, son," John replied sternly, "Dean pick yourself up off the floor."

"_This is where you __**told**__ me to go!" _Dean wanted to yell but instead he nodded and somehow, he's not sure exactly how he managed it, pulled himself upright, staggering out of the room.

"Dean."

He was in the doorway when Mr. Winchester called his name and Dean felt sick at the thought of having to do more exercises – he could hardly even stand up let alone do more push ups and sit ups.

"You learned your lesson, boy?" His foster father growled and Dean nodded furiously.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Is this going to happen again?" the man pressed and Dean changed from nodding his head to shaking it, desperate to prove how serious he was. He'd never call Miss White, ever.

"No Sir."

"It better not," John scowled. "Or it'll be double next time."

Dean felt faint at just the thought of that and as soon as John gave him permission he ran from the room, climbing the stairs on his hands and knees and collapsing into his uncomfortable, broken bed before he finally allowed himself to cry.

* * *

"How come I didn't get to play with you and Dean, Daddy?" Sam pouted as he stared at the floor. He was glad Daddy and Dean seemed to be making friends and that Dean was starting to be a good boy for Daddy but..._Sam _was Daddy's special boy – Daddy had promised he'd always love Sam the most.

"Look someone in the eyes when you're talking to them, Sam," Daddy instructed and Sam did as he was told. As soon as he set eyes on his Daddy though, he immediately crumpled, his eyes welling with tears. Maybe Daddy loved Dean the most now? Maybe he wouldn't want Sammy around anymore.

Daddy's face softened then and he patted his lap, "C'mere."

Sam quickly wiped his tears and grinned as he happily scrambled onto his Daddy's knee.

"You know I love you, Sammy," Daddy started and Sam shrugged. He _thought _he knew that but now he wasn't so sure.

"Sammy?" Daddy questioned and Sam shrugged, staring at his shoes. He didn't want to cry, he **didn't**,but...

"You played games with Dean and I wasn't invited and you made me go to my room and, and, and you love him more than you love me and that's not fair cuz you said-"

"Sammy," Daddy interrupted and Sam shut up cuz Daddy sounded mad. "I do not love Dean more than you, you got that? Dean is here so Daddy can get money and buy you nice things, that's all."

Sam just shrugged. If Daddy didn't love Dean then why was he playing games with him that Sammy wasn't allowed to join in?"

"Dean did a bad thing and a special lady came to the house to talk about it. I had to teach Dean a lesson afterwards."

"So you weren't playin'?" Sam sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"It was a special game, to teach Dean not to be naughty anymore," Daddy explained and Sam frowned, that sounded confusing but Daddy was real smart, he knew what he was doing.

"Did it work?" he asked, grinning when his Daddy nodded.

"I think so."

Sammy giggled as Daddy ruffled his hair.

"I guess they didn't teach him good lessons in that home, huh?" Sammy asked and John shook his head.

"That's right Sammy, so you need to tell me when Dean does bad things, remember?"

"I will," Sam promised and then paused, a thought once again niggling at his four-year-old mind. "When Dean learns to be a good boy, will you love him more than me then?"

"Never, Sammy," Daddy answered and he sounded so sure that Sam immediately felt better. Daddy would never lie to him anyway, not in a billion years.

"I promise, you'll always be my favourite little boy," John smiled and Sam found himself smiling too. He was only four years old but this was one thing he knew for sure – Daddy _always _kept his promises and he _never_ told lies.


	7. Chapter 7

**Memories of abuse in this chapter + the usual. Thansks to everyone who's been kind enough to leave a review. I'm back at work now and they give me something to look forward to.**

**Chapter 7**

Sam's seven years old by the time he gets the bike he was promised. There's no wrapping paper or gift tag and it wasn't even his birthday, but nevertheless, on a Wednesday morning in August, it was there, propped up against the end of his bed – shiny and new and perfect.

Sam rushed out to thank his Daddy but he slowed down when he noticed the closed door to Daddy's bedroom. Daddy was having one of his special talks with Dean, probably because Dean was going to be ad-op-ted today. That meant he was gonna have the same name as Daddy and Sammy so he'd be a Winchester, too...except not really because Dean didn't have a Mommy and Daddy who were Winchesters. Besides, Daddy was always saying Dean was too weak to be a _real_ Winchester which made Sam proud cuz he _was _a 'real Winchester'.

Still, Sam knew that he could never _ever_ interrupt Daddy and Dean when they're having a special talk, so instead he ran back into his room to look at his bicycle some more. It was just the right height and it even had a bell. Sam reached up to ring it and then paused, thinking twice. Maybe Daddy wouldn't like him ringing the bell inside...

"Go ahead, Sammy. We all wanna hear what it sounds like."

Sam jumped at the sound of Daddy's voice and looked up to see him standing in the doorway. He _hated_itwhen Daddy crept up on him like that. Daddy just kept telling him that he had to train his ears better, but Sam didn't really know _how _and Daddy wouldn't teach him.

"_You're too young to be worrying about that, son," _he'd always say and Sam didn't argue even though he was nearly eight and hardly a little kid any more.

Sam looked past his Dad to see Dean sitting at the top of the stairs, not even paying attention. Daddy looked, too, and Sam kind of wished he hadn't stared since Daddy immediately looked mad; he didn't want Daddy to be mad on such a special day.

"Dean, get in here."

Yup – he _sounded _mad alright.

Dean quickly came into the bedroom then, his eyes widening when he noticed the new bike. Since there were only enough beds in this house for Sam and Daddy, Dean had to sleep on the couch, so he hadn't seen the bike when he'd woken up for his special talk.

"This is my new bike," Sam announced smugly, loving the look of jealousy and surprise on Dean's face. "Cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Dean gasped. "That's awesome, Sam."

"This is what Sammy gets for being a _good_boy," Daddy told Dean and he still sounded kinda mad. Sam felt a bit bad for getting Dean into trouble...he hadn't thought Daddy would get this annoyed just because Dean was sitting on the stairs.

"But Dean gets to be adopted, right?" he asked brightly. "I - I get a new bike and Dean gets to be adopted."

"That's right, Sam," Daddy agreed and Sam grinned cheekily, happy to hear that he sounded a bit less angry now.

"Aaaaand...we all get extra dessert tonight?"

Sam giggled at Daddy's pretend look of outrage. Dean even laughed quietly, although he stopped when Daddy started looking angry. Dean wasn't very good at playing games; he never knew when Daddy was really mad or just pretend-mad. Sam thought that maybe it was because Dean grew up with nasty people who didn't teach him how to play games when he was little. Maybe when he'd finished playing with his bike, Sam could teach Dean how to play properly. After all, part of the job of being a brother was being a good playmate - that's what the other kids said, anyway.

"Well, we'll see about _that_," Daddy grinned, ruffling Sam's hair. "Now come on, get ready. We don't want to be late."

* * *

Dean fiddled with the buttons of his suit jacket as he sat in the backseat of the Impala. The tags were tucked down his collar and they tickled every time he moved. When he'd pointed that out, Mr. Winchester had just cuffed him on the back of his head and told him to shut up. It had been a light hit since Dean couldn't show up at court with bruises - the boy knew he could get away with a lot today, but he also knew his foster father would make him pay for it afterwards if he tried anything. After all, once he was adopted, there'd be no escape for him.

He'd heard Mr. Winchester talk about this a lot on the phone. He told his friends that he just wanted Dean to be 'one of the family' and that 'the big payoff for finally taking the brat of their hands was just a bonus'.

Dean didn't know whose hands he's was on or why they wanted to pay to get rid of him but he figured he must've just done something bad by accident.

"_Besides," _Dean had heard Mr. Winchester say to 'Bobby', _"The boy's getting old enough to hunt, can't have the nosy fuckers opening __**that**__ can of worms."_

Apparently, 'Bobby' hadn't agreed and Mr. Winchester had got mad, yelling down the phone that 'he needed another pair of hands and no way in hell was he putting Sammy in that sort of danger'.

Dean didn't like the sound of hunting _or _danger and after today, there'd be no one he could ask for help. There'd be no more social workers coming to visit…not that they'd ever done him much good, anyway. He'd had a lot of different ones over the past three years and they always seemed to be either young, nervous girls who were brand new to the job or lazy old men who just wanted easy cases to keep them busy till they retired. This was most likely because Mr. Winchester told the people at social services that he didn't want anyone who would 'intimidate' Dean; he told Dean to 'keep his fucking mouth shut or else'.

Dean couldn't really remember Miss White much now, but if he concentrated he could remember the colour of her hair, her soft, gentle voice and how she was always dressed so nicely. He remembered how she would always tell him to keep trying with school even though he was _years _behind the other kids and how, after talking to her, Dean actually felt like he _could _catch up with them.

He knew now that there wasn't much chance of him ever being as smart as other kids his age. He'd been to about six different schools since being fostered by Mr. Winchester and while Sam seemed to have no trouble settling in with the new work, Dean struggled to catch up; he just couldn't handle being thrown in at the deep end when he was already behind and that just proved that his foster father was right – Sammy was smart and Dean was a retard.

"Are you looking forward to being adopted, Dean?" Sam asked as he swiveled around in the passenger seat to get a better view of Dean.

"Sure, I am," Dean replied, forcing a half-hearted smile onto face.

At times like this, he wondered if Sammy really was so smart, after all. Then again, the kid was only seven and Mr. Winchester was really smart – he kept the beatings behind closed doors and kept Dean's injuries where they couldn't be seen...most of the time.

There'd been the time last year, of course, when Mr. Winchester had accidentally knocked one of Dean's teeth out by punching him for eating cookies without permission. It hadn't even been a loose tooth and Dean had howled with the pain and surprise of it. Mr. Winchester had looked panicked for a quick second and then just sneered.

"_Guess you won't be stealing __**any **__food for a while," _he'd guffawed before picking up Dean's discarded tooth, which had landed half away across the room, and pressing it into Dean's shaking palm.

"_A __**reminder**_," he'd hissed, and it had worked - no matter how hungry he got or how many times Mr. Winchester 'forgot' to pack him a lunch for school, Dean never took food without permission ever again.

Sam had been excited when Dean emerged from the living room, the back of one hand pressed against his bleeding mouth, the other clutching his tooth. He'd immediately demanded that Dean put it under the pillow for the Tooth Fairy and when Dean didn't move, he'd pried the tooth from Dean's hand and done it himself.

"_How much money do you think you'll get, Dean?" _he'd asked happily. _"The Tooth Fairy pays lots more money for clean teeth."_

"_I - I dunno,"_ Dean had stammered, his words muffled against the back of his hand. The shock was starting to wear off and in its place, panic was setting in.

"_Jimmy Milesdon from school got a whole ten dollars. Imagine what you could get with ten whole dollars, Dean! You could buy at least a million comics!"_

"_Dammit, Sam, there ain't no such thing as fairies!"_ Dean had snapped irritably and Sam's seven-year-old face had instantly crumpled, tears forming in his wide, brown eyes.

"_Dean, every time you say you don't believe in fairies, a fairy __**dies**__!"_ Sam had wailed, looking at Dean like he'd just killed a puppy or something.

But he _wasn't _the bad one here! All he'd done was take one stupid cookie because he was hungry and Mr. Winchester had slapped him around for it. _Sammy _didn't get _his _teeth knocked out when _he _snacked without permission. It wasn't fair!

"_No, they __**don't**__ die because they don't __**exist**__,"_ Dean had smirked, enjoying the way Sam's face scrunched up further. For once, he wasn't the one crying and getting yelled at, for once someone was scared of _him_.

"_Shut up, Dean!"_ Sammy had yelled back, his tiny hands curled into fists.

That was the first time Sam had ever yelled at him and Dean had quickly realized that he didn't like it. Sammy was the only person who was ever even a little bit nice to him.

But he'd been scared and panicked and so mad that he didn't want to be the one apologizing, so instead he'd just yelled right back,

"_I don't believe in fairies! I don't believe in fairies! I don't believe in fairies! I don't believe in fairies!"_ over and over like a crazy person until Sam fled from the room in tears, his hands clamped firmly over his ears.

He'd gotten beat up some more by Mr. Winchester for _that_ and his mouth had swelled up so bad that it looked like he was chewing a golf ball. Sammy hadn't spoken to him all night, even when Dean had whispered apologies to him from the other side of the room they shared and even lied that he _did _believe in fairies, and in the morning, when Dean's tooth still sat under his pillow, resting in a little stain of dried blood, Sam had burst into floods of tears because Dean had 'killed' the Tooth Fairy.

Even after John sat the younger boy down (after digging his thumbs painfully into the pressure points on either side of Dean's swollen jaw for a full half a minute in the bathroom) and explained that the Tooth Fairy just didn't want the teeth of bad boys like Dean, Sam had still hissed the words 'Fairy Killer' at him whenever he thought Mr. Winchester wasn't listening.

Luckily, Dean had managed to escape him for a few days while Mr. Winchester kept him out of school. A bump like that would raise too many questions and Dean was 'too fucking dumb not to fuck everything up'.

In the end, Sammy had told one of his teachers that Dean was out of school because his tooth fell out and he was being punished for killing the Tooth Fairy. They'd had to move to get away from the inevitable visit from the curious social workers that followed an excuse like _that._

Luckily, Dean hadn't gotten beaten for _that_ and the whole thing was forgotten when Sammy lost one of his _own _teeth a week later and there was a ten dollar bill under his pillow the next morning.

Or, at least the whole thing had been forgotten by Mr. Winchester and Sammy – Dean would always remember that day as the first time Mr. Winchester hit him with his fist. The day he realized how screwed he really was.

And yet even the memory of that painful lump (it had been so bad Mr. Winchester had even let him put ice on it) wasn't enough to stop him from signing his adoption papers. Mr. Winchester was mean, but Dean had been with worse foster families before and the thought of Mr. Brown was so terrifying that it was enough for Dean to want to sign the papers there and then. At least if John was going to be his 'Dad', then he couldn't go back to that home and Mr. Brown could never touch him again.

"Are you sure?"

It was only then that Dean realised Sam had been staring at him the whole time and the older boy nodded again.

"Totally," Dean replied. "I can't wait." And this time his smile was a little less forced. After all, Sammy was nice to him most of the time and Mr. Winchester only hurt him a couple of times a week. There was even a chance that he might get to ride on Sam's new bike if he was nice to the shrimp. Things weren't so bad…were they?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Daddy was in a pretty good mood after Dean's adoption. Sam figured that that meant Daddy really _did _love Dean, he just didn't show it all the time. Maybe Dean didn't like cuddles or something...his brother was a bit weird like that sometimes.

They were moving though...again, which meant another boring drive and after sitting still and silent in court for what felt like a million hours, Sammy wasn't looking forward to sitting still and quiet for even _longer _in the car. In fact, it sounded so boring that Sammy was considering giving up his special place in the passenger seat to sit in the back with Dean.

The seven year old's wide brown eyes darted between his Daddy cramming his new bike into the trunk of the Impala, and the passenger and back doors of the car. One look at Daddy's grumpy face and Sam knew who he wanted to sit next to for the next few hours.

"Whatcha doing?" Dean whispered as Sam clambered into the back of the Impala.

"I'm sitting here today," Sam announced, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt. Daddy didn't like it when Sam took Dean's side in anything – not that he did that a lot, Daddy was the grown up after all.

"Why?" Dean glared at him.

"Because I want to," Sammy pouted, folding his arms across his chest defiantly only to uncross them seconds later and jab his finger at the passenger seat. "But that's still _my _place, you can't sit there."

"Like I would wanna sit there anyway," Dean muttered and Sammy, not sure how to deal with Dean being so moody just stuck his tongue out in response.

Daddy gave him a glare when he got back in the car and Sam shrunk away from it, unconsciously huddling closer to his big brother.

"Not my buddy any more, Sammy?" Daddy asked.

"I am!" Sammy insisted. "I am, I am, I just...I wanted to make sure Dean was being good...you know, since he's a Winchester now, sort of..." Sammy felt guilty and stupid as soon as he said the words, knowing Daddy was probably going to say something mean about Dean.

Instead the man just sighed and fired up the engine and Sam sighed with relief that he wasn't in trouble. After all, Dean was the one who got in trouble, not him.

* * *

It had been dark for hours by the time Mr. Winchester pulled into the motel parking lot. Dean tried not to make his disappointment obvious - he hated motels. He usually had to sleep on the sofa bed – if he was lucky. More often than not he ended up sleeping on the floor since Mr. Winchester didn't want to pay for two rooms just so Dean could have a bed.

Still, at least Sammy usually shared his blankets and stuff now; sometimes even a pillow too. Dean just wished he was special enough to get his own bed, the floor was hard and uncomfortable and he always felt sore in the mornings.

Sam was asleep, his head lolling against the passenger window and Dean watched enviously as Mr. Winchester picked his son up in his arms so gently that the boy didn't even stir.

Dean knew without being told that he was expected to carry the bags, but today, unlike normal, he had Sammy's new bike to bring in too. He didn't think he could manage all the heavy bags _and _a bicycle but Mr. Winchester would probably shout at him if he couldn't. Then again, if he took too long, he'd probably get yelled at for that too...damn, he hated how he could never do anything right.

"Sir?" Dean tried not to sound too nervous as he addressed the man who was now, legally his father.

"What?" John snapped irritably and Dean flinched from the loudness of it.

Sam stirred in his father's arms and the elder man glared at Dean, "Now look what you've done!"

"Sorry Sir," Dean mumbled as he clambered out of the Impala.

His hands were shaking with nerves as Mr. Winchester tossed him the Impala keys and he fumbled them, cringing as they slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor with a metallic clang.

"Fucking useless..." Mr. Winchester sneered muttered at him and Dean bowed his head in shame. He wanted to argue, to convince himself otherwise, but the proof was right there on the dirty concrete of the parking lot.

"M'sorry," he whispered, more out of habit than hope of forgiveness.

Mr. Winchester just walked away, calling over his shoulder for Dean not too take too long. Dean heaved a sigh that was half-exhaustion and half relief. He wasn't looking forward to carrying all of John and Sam's stuff but it was precious time away from Mr. Winchester.

Dean sighed again and looked across the parking lot to the highway, watching the beams of the cars as they drew closer and then tracking the rear lights as they travelled away.

_How cool would it be if I could drive?_ Dean wondered as he stared down at the keys in his hand. He just get in the car and drive away, he'd drive so fast that Mr. Winchester and Mr. Brown and none of his other horrible foster parents would never be able to find him

_And then what? _Dean mocked himself as he popped the trunk open. He had no money, he was too dumb and clumsy to be any good at stealing; chances are the police would find him and take him back to Mr. Winchester. He'd just end up beaten up and back where he was now.

Dean grunted as he wrestled Sammy's new bike out of the trunk. He was careful not to scratch it knowing Sammy would instantly spot any damage and probably tell on him to his Dad.

The boy ran his hands wistfully over the shiny metal, Sammy was so lucky... He placed one foot on a pedal and remembered what it was like to feel those pedals whirring under his feet. He'd taught himself to ride back at the care homes and the bruises and scraped knees had been **so **worth it.

He briefly contemplated straddling the bike and _riding _it over to the motel but, as he looked up at the illuminated windows all around him he quickly decided against it – too risky.

Dean smiled as he walked into the warmth of the hotel lobby. The air outside was cold and Mr. Winchester hadn't bought him a new coat since he outgrew his old one.

"You need a hand with that son?"

Dean turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and founding himself staring into the face of the motel clerk; a kindly looking old man with white hair and a moustache. He looked harmless but looks could be deceiving though, Dean had learned that a long time ago.

"No thank you, Sir," Dean replied, grateful that he'd still remembered his manners in the shock of it all. It had been a long time since anyone had offered to help him with anything. The thought that someone would actually take time to help him with something as simple as moving a bike around, something he should be able to do easily...it had to be a trick. Yeah, Mr. Winchester had probably told this man to test him; well, no way was Dean dumb enough to fall for such a stupid trick.

"Your Dad's up on the top floor," the man continued. "You sure you don't want to just lock that up outside? We got a rack."

"No thanks," Dean replied, "This is my brother's bike, he'd go crazy if it got stolen." The boy shivered as he imagined Sammy's tears and, most terrifyingly, Mr. Winchester's anger.

"'K, well you're up in room 303, you have a good night now."

"I gotta bring the rest of the stuff," Dean replied sadly, dismissing the man's goodbye; he was totally **not **looking forward to lugging John and Sammy's heavy duffels up all those stairs. Why oh why couldn't they stop in a motel with an elevator for once? Then again, Mr. Winchester probably wouldn't let him take the elevator, he kept talking about how Dean needed to get fit and stop being such a girl.

"The rest of it?" the man asked, a frown spreading across his pale features. "Let me give you a hand with it."

"No," Dean answered, unable to keep the hint of panic out of his voice. "I can manage."

"Alright son..." the man answered somewhat unhappily, Dean didn't bother to reply, already terrifyingly aware of how much time he had wasted. He felt the clerk's eyes follow him as he trailed upstairs and he stared determinedly at the floor.

He didn't _think_ the clerk noticed the huge red handprint on his face when he made the second trip to the Impala and back but he kept his head down and his steps fast just in case.

By the time he had clambered the stairs for the final time his arms and back were aching like mad and he was hoping with all his might that he'd get a bed this time. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Winchester made him sleep on the floor as punishment for waking Sammy up and for taking too long with the bags.

Sure enough when he pushed open the motel door, Mr. Winchester pointed wordlessly to the corner where a screwed up sheet had been tossed into the corner and Dean knew, without being told, that that was his bed for this cold, fall night.

He didn't even change as he curled up in the corner, his arms hugging himself, hands stuffed under his armpits and his knees drawn to his chest. It was only then that he realized how miserable he really was sometimes.

It was only Sammy's tiny whisper in the darkness that gave him a sliver of hope that things might be different as the young boy whispered to his father.

"Daddy...how come Dean doesn't get a bed?"

Did this mean that maybe, _maybe_, things might be about to get better for him? With Sam on his side they had to...didn't they?

* * *

**AN: Ok folks, sorry it's short and a bit boring, I just wanted to give an insight into Dean's life through this part of his life. I'm thinking timeskip next chapter we;ll have a timeskip, and maybe Bobby....**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Dean was 14 by the time he finally got to meet this 'Uncle Bobby' he'd heard so much about and in that time things hadn't gotten better – they'd gotten a whole lot fucking worse.

Sam was excited about their trip but Dean couldn't bring himself to feel anything but fear and resentment. This was the Bobby Singer who acted as a character reference for _John Winchester_, the man who told social services that John would make a _good _father. As far as Dean's concerned, Bobby Singer handed him over to John Winchester on a silver platter... as far as Dean's concerned, Bobby can go to Hell.

The only good thing about Bobby Singer is that the man's bought him some precious time away from John.

Sure, it sucked being left alone in motels for a couple of days, especially when John didn't leave him any cash for food. But hey, he'd learned that if he drank from the tap to the point his belly was full, he could stave off the hunger pains for a couple of hours at a time. Apart from the last time, last year...when John and Sam had been gone for a long weekend, four whole days – water hadn't been enough then and that had been tough. Dean shivered and tried not to think about it.

Even _Sammy _had noticed something was wrong with him when he and John returned so Dean knew he must've looked bad. He just vowed never to let Sam know just _how _bad; Dean knew _he _was screwed up and he didn't want Sammy to turn out the same way. He couldn't protect his little brother from their fucked up lifestyle but he could maybe save him from finding out the truth about their fucked up father. But it was getting harder and harder as John got meaner and tougher and the pain grew harder and harder to hide.

And that's not all – John had spent the last three long years 'training' him for this. Hour after hour of sprints and push-ups and sit-ups and then weights, day after day. John had pulled him out of school after the teachers starting asking more and more questions, not only about the increasingly frequent bruises that he was often covered in, but also about the amount of times he'd fallen asleep in lessons. Sometimes it was concern but mostly frustration from the teachers who resented this 'problem child' being in their mainstream school and bringing down their 'mainstream' GPAs. There was a token gesture of disapproval when John Winchester pulled him out of school but that was more than overwhelmed by the collective sigh of relief from his teachers at the fact that they didn't have to deal with him anymore.

"_Fuck 'em," _Dean thought bitterly. _"Fuck them all."_

But, as much as he wanted to convince himself that he didn't care, Dean had to admit that his life was a hundred times worse now that he didn't have those precious thirty hours of freedom a week.

Sure, school had sucked big time - he'd accepted he was never going to be smart enough to pass his GED so he'd dedicated the hours to making sure no one knew how dumb he really was. He'd back-talked the teachers, goofed off in class and done pretty much everything possible to secure his image as the rebel or the clown or the slacker or whatever people wanted to believe he was...just as long as they never saw the real him.

"_I'm not __**dumb**__," _he'd assure them. _"I just can't be bothered with this shit."_

He'd fallen in with the 'bad crowd'. There was a bad crowd at every school it seemed - the same old characters of misfits just wearing different faces. He knew these people weren't his friends but some of the best times of his life had been when he'd hung out in some abandoned building that smelled of piss and damp, swigging from a bottle of beer that one of the older boys had lifted from the gas station, trying not to choke on the cloying cloud of smoke that settled all around them and mixed with the familiar acrid burning smell as the spliff moved round the circle back towards him.

Smoking, drugs, drinking – he'd done it all and if John Winchester ever found out he knew he'd get the shit beat out of him for it. After all, he couldn't be seen to be having 'fun' could he? Not when there was Sammy to look after and chores to be done and hunting to train for.

Well, just because it was the best time in his life, doesn't mean it was fun - it just shows how shitty his life really is. He hated everything about beer, the smell, the taste, the way the bottle got all sticky and disgusting. Even thinking about it gave him flashbacks to John Winchester hurling his drunken abuse at him, drinking all through the night as Dean vainly struggled to learn Latin and then chucking him downstairs when, after six long, torturous hours, he still couldn't do it.

Smoking was shit and fucking disgusting. If John actually gave a shit about him he probably would have noticed the cloying smell that seeped into Dean's clothes and stuck there for days. But Dean was lucky enough that John had bought him _two_ outfits from Goodwill when he turned thirteen – they were fucking hideous of course, but it gave him something to change into.

As for the weed, well that was something else altogether. Dean _liked _that - it didn't make him moody or sick like the alcohol, it just made him...free. Just made it so that he wasn't himself for a while, that his life wasn't so shit. Until reality came crashing back in the form of a comedown or more likely John Winchester's fist in his ribcage.

"_Don't fucking __**grin **__at me, boy!"_

But now that was gone. He could sneak some of John's beer if he really wanted to, but it wouldn't be worth the thrashing he'd get for it. And besides, he'd never drink around Sammy, he had to stay alert, make sure the kid was safe, make sure John never turned his violent attentions to his 'favorite' son, make sure Sammy never found out what a fucking screwed up mess his big brother was inside.

Even now, as they rode in the car, Sam and John were arguing,

"But Dad, _why _can't I do training with you and Dean?"

Why? Why? Why? That was seemingly all Dean heard out of the kid's mouth these days. _"Why don't you go to school anymore, Dean? Why does Dad never buy you desert, Dean? Why are you walking funny, Dean? Why is your eye all swelled up, Dean?"_

Dean liked to think he was pretty patient with the kid...well, most of the time, but even **he **was getting overwhelmed by his little brother's curiosity. And it wasn't as if the kid was ever satisfied with the answers he got, either.

"_Because I'm too smart for school, Sam. Because I don't want desert, Sam. Because my shoes don't fit, Sam. Because I walked into the door, Sam." _

"Because you don't need training, Sammy, you're fine just the way you are."

As if to demonstrate what Dean had just been thinking, Sam proceeded to put on his finest pout and glare at his father from the passenger seat. "It's **Sam**."

Dean smiled, knowing how much the kid hated his childhood nickname. It was a somewhat bitter smile, he took pleasure in the fact that Sam was growing up now and that John Winchester clearly couldn't deal with his son starting to develop a mind of his own but at the same time, the memory of the time he'd accidentally said 'thanks Sammy' when he was eight and John had slapped him round the back of the head so hard it had made his ears ring overshadowed any _real _happiness he could muster. Of course, that was nothing compared to what happened to him these days but as an eight year old it had freaked him out and since then he'd made sure to only use the nickname in his thoughts, never out loud.

"And anyway, I **want **to do it, I want to be tough like you and Dean and fight monsters like you do." Sam continued, adding puppy-dog eyes to his pout.

"When you're older."

Dean hated John Winchester but he had to admire the man's resolve. He's seen many an adult crumble under that look.

"No, now."

"You're not training, Sam. You're going to stay with Uncle Bobby and work hard on your studying." John replied in a tone that no one with even an ounce of self-preservation would argue with.

But of course, it wasn't 'anyone' arguing, it was Samuel Winchester. "But why can't I do it **now**? You trained with Dean when _he _was ten, right after he got adopted."

Dean wasn't expecting his foster father to remember that actually he'd been _eleven_ when the man had introduced him to his new 'fitness regime' which, Dean had been sure at the time was some form of torture. He thought back to those earlier sessions and sighed sadly, six miles? He could manage that no problem these days. Dean figured that, at the time, he'd just been too much of a brat to be grateful that John wasn't making him do more.

"But how come **Dean **gets to learn and I don't? That's not fair!"

Dean gritted his teeth in frustration as Sam started another round of whining – the kid just didn't know when to stop! And how could Sam be _jealous_? Did he think Dean _enjoyed_ running until he passed out? That he _wanted_ to spend his nights in the freezing cold learning survival techniques? Did Sam really believe Dean looked forward to being left alone in a room with John and a trunk full of weapons?

But of course, Sam didn't know the nightly hell Dean went through and he **wouldn't **know, not ever. All he saw was that his Dad was spending time with Dean and not him and as much as Dean hated to alienate his little brother, he was happier to have the kid believe _that _than to know the truth.

"Sam, we adopted Dean so that you wouldn't have to be in danger, ok? Dean was hunting when he was ten because it doesn't matter if he gets hurt or if he misses school but you're my _son_, Sammy, it's my job to keep you safe."

Dean tried not to listen as John talked about him as though he wasn't just half a foot away from them, but he couldn't help but tune in when he heard Sam answer back (yet again).

"But it _does_ matter when Dean gets hurt," Sam pouted and Dean's eyes widened. Sammy was sticking up for him? That was a first.

"I don't like it, it's scary."

It was scary? Dean sighed quietly – he was obviously going to have to do a better job of trying to hide his injuries from the squirt. He didn't want Sammy upset, not because of him.

"Look Sam, Dean's just a big girl," John said, giving his son a fatherly wink. "How do you know he's not just faking it to scare you on purpose?"

Sam turned in the passenger seat then, swivelling to look at Dean. Dean stared back with wide, pleading eyes.

"_I'm not, Sam!" _He tried to tell his little brother, _"I'm promise I'm not." _

Sam didn't look convinced by his father's suggestions but, Dean noted with some worry, he didn't look entirely _un_convinced either.

Well, that just meant he was going to try that much harder to keep his injuries hidden, to keep his pain a secret and to make sure he lived up to John's expectations so the man would punish him as little as possible.

And he **would **do it because he wasn't trying for _his _sake, he was trying for his little brother's. And that meant that failing just wasn't an option.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone, sorry this is short but on the plus side we do get to see Bobby this time. Apologies for using this space to reply to areview but CJ if you are finding this distressing, please, please don't read any more. I don't want anyone to make themselves upset. As much as I'd love to suddenly bring in some awesome, likeable character that would make everything all better, I'm trying to make this a relaistic portrayl of abuse and that often involves painful isolation from any kind of support.. The life of an abused child definitely isn't 'enjoyable' and that's what I'm trying to portray so if it is upsetting you, please don't read any more because there's a while to go before the payback! **

Chapter 10

Bobby Singer watched with a smile as Sam Winchester clambered out of the Impala and rushed towards him, flinging himself, with all of his ten-year-old strength, into Bobby's waiting arms.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby!" the kid beamed. "You have to meet my new big brother. He's not really new, since we been brothers for...."

Bobby watched as the kid counted on his finger for a few seconds,

"For six whole years now but you never met him."

Bobby just nods, trying not to let his emotions show on his face. He's never been entirely convinced by John's assertions that Dean's been happier staying at friends' houses for the weekend rather than come visit for the past few years.

Firstly, he knew that growing up as a hunter was hardly the kind of life where you made a lot of friends, especially not when John moved the boys around as much as he did.

And secondly, even _if_, by some miracle, one of these boys actually managed to make a decent friendship, Bobby knew that there was no way in hell John would let the boys stay over _anywhere_ – not without a shotgun and a bag of rock salt and that was hardly something that could be explained away to the naturally over-cautious parents of teenagers.

John had always mentioned that Dean was a wary kid, abused from a young age - 'trust issues' the authorities said. John had said that Dean wasn't really comfortable around strangers and Bobby had a sneaking suspicion that John had been leaving the boy with someone safe, probably James Murphy and was just acting too tough to admit it. After all, the kindly old Pastor was probably a little less intimidating than himself, Bobby acknowledged.

But Dean was, what, 14 now? John was doing the right thing in easing up on his protectiveness of the boy. And Bobby was sure that if the kid could handle hunting with John then he could handle a simple meet and greet.

"Dean, Dean, this is Uncle Bobby!" Sammy grinned, rushing to his brother's side and dragging him out of the Impala and towards Bobby. Dean had the look of long suffering amusement and annoyance that belonged to all big brothers and Bobby smiled. That was a good sign. Maybe he'd gotten the wrong impression when he'd thought John was favoring Sammy; the kid didn't _seem _resentful of his little brother.

"Hello, Dean," Bobby greeted warmly, extending his hand to the boy. As he waited for the kid to take it, Bobby took the time to study the late addition to the Winchester family. He was a pretty unremarkable kid – short, dark hair, average height (almost matched by the distinctly **above**-average Sammy), a few freckles across his pale face and a just a few more scars than normal for a boy his age.

It was only when the hunter stared into Dean's eyes that he noticed something truly surprising – fear. The kid was afraid...of what? A handshake? But then the look was gone, wiped out and in its place cold, haunted look that shook Bobby to the core. John had said the kid was troubled and boy, had he been right.

"My name's Bobby, it's nice to finally meet you, kid."

Dean nodded but his eyes were still wary. The silence from the boy was becoming awkward and Bobby was relieved to see John making his way over from the car.

"Dean say hello to Bobby," John ordered sternly.

"Hello, Bobby," Dean mumbled obediently, staring at the floor.

"Right, yeah." Bobby cleared his throat, almost _squirming _with the awkwardness of it all...and Bobby Singer **did not** squirm under **any** circumstances. "Sam, why don't you show Dean to the room?"

Sam beamed at the responsibility and quickly grabbed his older brother's arm. "C'mon, Dean, you can have a bed this time!"

Bobby frowned a little at Sam's words and looked to John who just shrugged with good-natured confusion. Bobby wasn't surprised; Sam had quite an imagination - who knew what kind of games he and Dean had cooked up between them? No doubt their father was as out of the loop as Bobby himself was.

"You were right, John, they do get along well," Bobby mused as his old friend walked closer.

"Yeah, Sammy's a kind kid, too kind sometimes," John replied as he watched his son and Dean rush towards Bobby's house.

"Ah, John, you don't want the boy to be a tattle-tale now, do ya?" Bobby winked, attempting to lighten the eerily solemn tone of the conversation.

John chuckled softly. "You're right there," he agreed with a smile which faded from his features a little too quickly.

"John?" Bobby prompted, worried by his friend's altered demeanor. He had been able to tell from the minute John opened his mouth that something wasn't quite right with the man. The harsh way the man had spoken to his elder son was a far cry from the soft, fatherly tones he took with Sammy, obviously something was preying on John Winchester's mind – and Bobby would bet a fair amount that it was something to do with the yellow-eyed demon. After all, wasn't it _always _something to do with the blasted yellow-eyed demon?

"I'm just worried, you know, for Sammy," John shrugged, not meeting Bobby's eyes. Bobby wasn't too surprised, John was never one for sharing his problems and feelings – he was a man's man who kept it all bottled up inside, much like Bobby himself.

"Dean...he's getting to be a bad influence."

"A bad influence?" Bobby echoed. He wondered how the nervous young boy who had barely managed to mumble a simple hello could possibly be a bad influence on the stubborn, willful Samuel Winchester.

"He's an angry kid, Bobby, very angry. He's tough to keep in line. I've already had to pull him out of school...drinking, drugs – the kid's going off the rails..."

Bobby frowned, his eyebrows knitting together as he concentrated - this was the first he'd heard of any of this. "Well, maybe it's _Dean _you should be worried about, not Sammy," he replied seriously, watching John's face intently for a reaction.

"Maybe but...you know, Bobby, I'm beginning to think the kid's beyond help," John sighed wearily and Bobby found himself shaking his head in disagreement even before he formed his reply.

"John...he's your **son**," the hunter replied incredulously, "You can't talk like that about him."

"But...he's not," John shrugged and Bobby recoiled a little.

"No, no, listen," John backpedalled, apparently having noticed his friend's reaction. "I mean, when I first saw the kid, back in that home, I-I thought I could help him, you know? I _wanted _to help him. But I'm beginning to think that those eight years I missed might have been the important ones..."

Bobby relaxed a bit then, placing a friendly hand on John Winchester's shoulder. "Ah John, welcome to the world of teenagers," he chuckled. "All parents go through this," the hunter assured his friend. "Everyone wants to know where they've gone wrong, even with their biological kids."

"But I don't want Sam going down that path, I **won't **let Dean lead him down there."

Bobby's attempt at light-heartedness fell flat on his face again and Bobby sighed a little in frustration. John Winchester was nothing if not stubborn and the determination in his eyes when he spoke that sentence was unnerving to say the least.

"Then you gotta stop Dean going down there first," he replied seriously. "You ever think about _why _the kid's drinking and skipping school? Did you ever _ask_?"

The look on John's face clearly indicated that he hadn't so Bobby didn't bother giving him the time to reply.

"I mean, I know we've been over this a thousand times, John, but the life you give those kids isn't an easy one and-."

"Yeah, well _life _isn't easy, Bobby, and they need to learn that."

"The kid was beat damn near every day of his life for eight years, John, I'm pretty sure he already knows that!" Bobby exclaimed, watching as John's expression softened into one of regret.

"I know, Bobby, and it haunts me."

Bobby instantly regretted his harsh words as he watched John Winchester's expression crumple from harsh anger into defeated sorrow.

"I adopted him so he wouldn't be at risk of going back into the system that let that happen. But now...I'm failing him just the same."

From John's flat, defeated tone of voice, Bobby could tell that wasn't a new thought the other hunter was having. Heck, it almost sounded _rehearsed_, so it must have been going round in the man's head for a long time now.

"Listen to me, ya idgit," he demanded, clapping the elder man on the shoulder. "You ain't failing nobody, alright. Just stay here for the whole damned summer, give the kids some stability and we'll get that boy of yours sorted out."

"Well, I mean...we weren't planning on staying more than-."

"Ah, to hell with what you were 'planning'," Bobby said dismissively, waving his hand flippantly in John's direction. "You're staying here, John, for as long as it takes."

John didn't look entirely convinced but Bobby wasn't budging. "After all," the elder hunter continued with a wink. "I've got a new nephew to get to know."

**AN: Sorry it's short but I thought it was time we got to see how manipulative John really is. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hi everyone. sorry about the wait, I've had a really big writer's block with this fic and I've been sitting my end of year exams, not fun. They're all done now so hopefully I hsould be able to update quicker (and better- this chapter is a bit meh). If anyone is actually still reading, I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 11

Dean stared at his plate with wide eyes; he didn't think he'd ever been given so much food before - his plate was piled high with just as much food as Sammy's, maybe even more. The young teen didn't think he'd ever eaten this much in one go before, wasn't even sure if he _could_.

"Kid, the general idea is that it goes in your mouth,"

"Huh?" Dean looked up in surprise, no one ever talked to him at the dinner table unless it was to give him a chore to do. But, yep, he wasn't going mad, Bobby Singer _was _looking at him.

"Eat your goddamn food kid before I eat it for ya,"

Bobby chuckled as John growled but Dean knew that his foster father wasn't joking. He was frequently given just one or two minutes to gulp down whatever leftovers John decided to give him before the older man would declare he was taking too long or wasting time and snatch the plate away.

Spurred into action, Dean eagerly stabbed his fork into a spear of broccoli and chewed happily. He still suspected this Bobby guy was a jerk for siding with John but hell, he could be worse. At least the guy fed him, and well too!

Dean was so engrossed in his food that he was actually jumped when Sam started speaking.

"Are you and Dad going to hunt monsters tonight, Uncle Bobby?"

Dean froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. _Hunting_. The word dredged up memories of the endless, agonising hours spent 'training' with John. The elder man had said he'd be putting it into practice soon – was this it? Was he really going to have go out and hunt?

Still – there couldn't be many monsters in the world worse than John Winchester could there? Of course there was always...Mr. Brown. Dean shuddered at the memories assaulting his senses and dropped his fork with a clatter.

He was aware of John staring at him furiously and of Sam giggling and calling him clumsy but none of it really registered as he sat shivering at the feel of fingers crawling over his thighs, of heavy breathing against his neck, of lying curled up in a ball crying for hours afterwards...

"I said, isn't that right, **Dean**?"

Dean jumped at the sound of John's voice and nodded reflexively, even though he had no idea what'd been said. "Yes Sir."

Bobby looked at him weirdly but John seemed satisfied and Dean sighed silently in relief as the man turned his attention back to his food.

Dean looked away from his foster father and back to his own plate but his appetite had fled at the memories of Mr. Brown and almost a third of the food lay untouched on his plate. He wasn't used to eating this much anyway and even the sight of it (or was that another side effect of his memories?) was starting to make him feel queasy.

The teen reluctantly chewed on a carrot, pushing it to the back of his mouth for a minute before forcing himself to swallow. His stomach gurgled, attracting the attention of the other three males at the table and Dean gulped, sliding down in his chair a little.

"You alright, Dean? You're looking pale."

"I uh-" Dean stammered, not sure how to react to Bobby's gentle concern. It had been so long since someone had asked if he was alright and actually _meant _it...

"Don't be rude, Dean, finish your meal."

Dean gulped again, and stared down at his plate, the food appearing more like a mountain than a meal – he'd never be able to eat that in a million years. Or at least not until he stopped feeling so queasy.

"Dean," John repeated sternly and Dean glanced up nervously, feeling sweat start to break out on his brow.

Sam was looking between his brother and father nervously, clearly sensing the atmosphere. "I can eat Dean's food for him if he doesn't want it?" the young boy suggested timidly and Dean almost smiled – Sammy was doing his best to help him. It wouldn't be enough though

"No, Dean needs to learn not to be wasteful," John replied pointedly, not even glancing at his youngest son as he continued scrutinising Dean.

"John, buddy, calm down, it's alright," Bobby placated and Dean stared up at the man with a surprised but desperately grateful stare. Could this be for real? Could he really be about to escape a beating here?

"Boy needs to learn some manners, Bobby," John replied firmly before repeating his earlier order. "Finish your dinner, Dean."

Dean just shook his head weakly, his stomach churning at even the smell of the food.

"Please Sir," he whispered meekly, "I-I feel sick."

"For Christ sake, Dean!" John roared, slamming his fist down on the table so hard that the cutlery rattled. "Someone cooks you a nice meal and _this _is how you act?!"

Dean just moaned, reflexively swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, it was all he could do not to throw right up there and then.

"Take it easy, John," Bobby spoke with a nervous laugh, "We all know my cooking ain't the best."

Dean wanted to shake his head - this food was the best he'd ever had, way nicer than the cold leftovers John occasionally saw fit to give him, but he just couldn't manage so much of it. He was so used to being hungry that the feeling of being even half-full was making him queasy and he had the feeling that shaking his head would just make that feeling a lot worse.

"Dean why don't you go lie down if you're feeling ill?" Bobby asked using that tone that John sometimes used where Dean knew it wasn't really a question at all but an order in disguise.

But...he was only supposed to take orders from John, wasn't he?

Dean risked a glance at his fuming foster father, just pleading that, for once in his life, the guy would cut him some slack.

"Go on then, get upstairs," John finally relented and Dean could have sobbed with relief. He darted from the table, trying to ignore the wave of sickness brought on by his sudden movements and crashed onto the bed, too sick to even dwell on how nice it was to have a real bed for once.

* * *

Bobby smiled affectionately as Sam enthusiastically dried the dishes handed to him. The kid hadn't _quite _got the knack of it yet which Bobby found surprising; he would have thought John Winchester would've given his boys far more than their fair share of chores.

Well...there was one way to find out... "So, I bet you have to do this all the time at home, huh?" the hunter asked with a grin, 'Uncle Bobby' persona in full swing.

"Nah," Sam replied casually. "Dean does it."

"Oh, I see," Bobby replied, still trying to keep his tone light. "And what chores do **you **get stuck with then?"

Sammy paused his drying then, the room suddenly silent with the absence of the squeaking of towel against porcelain.

"None," he replied, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.

"None?" Bobby echoed, scratching his chin as he tried to puzzle _that _one out. "That doesn't seem very fair."

"Nope but, Dad says I don't have time cos I gotta concentrate on my studying and Dean should do it cos he doesn't go to school anymore," Sam replied as he resumed drying.

"Your Dad doesn't teach Dean himself then?" Bobby probed.

Sam always had been a chatterbox and the last thing Bobby wanted was for the kid to go blabbing to John that 'Uncle Bobby' had been asking a load of questions. But he couldn't help pressing the kid – John had always made such a big deal of how smart Sam was, of how he wanted to give the kids the best education he could, hunt permitting of course. Bobby had argued till he was blue in the face that trailing the boys all round the country wasn't going to do their education any good but John had had none of it. Bobby always thought it was a blessing that Sam was so smart otherwise he would never have been able to deal with such a scrambled up curriculum – obviously, Dean hadn't been so lucky.

"No, Dean's lucky, he doesn't get made to do homework or nothing, it's not fair," Sam pouted. "He gets to learn cool stuff like how to shoot guns and find ghosts and stuff and I gotta do dumb math."

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle at that, there was no other ten year old but Sammy that could make that sentence sound normal. Deep down however he was beginning to get the feeling that there really wasn't anything to be laughing about.

"Well, I think that'll do kid," the hunter declared, pointedly ignoring the remaining unwashed saucepans. "How about we go find your Dad and Dean, eh?"

"Nah, I don't wanna," Sam pouted again. "They're probably doing special training or having a special talk or something and I won't be allowed to join in."

The kid looked so dejected that Bobby longed to reassure him that that wasn't true, that he'd be allowed to join in, that John and Dean wouldn't be up to anything secret or private. But there was a nagging suspicion in his head that stopped him from doing just that and had him walking, a little quicker than normal to the exit. Why couldn't he shake the feeling that Sam wasn't just being a bratty child this time around? Why did he get the feeling that something just wasn't right here at all?


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Hi everyone, hope you're all ok. I just want to say a really big SORRY if I didn't reply to your review. I think the new system is really, really lame and I find it really confusing. I really do appreciate your reviews very much and I feel very rude if I don't reply. This time I am making a special effort NOT to forget who I replied to and who I didn't and respond to every review. Anyway, sorry about that, and the delay, enjoy some Dean and Bobby!**

Chapter 12

Dean sat quietly on Uncle Bobby's porch, scuffing at the dirt with his worn-out sneakers. One of his toes was poking through the a hole where the sole was peeling away and Dean flexed it, bitterly noting the fact there _was _actually one part of his body that didn't hurt when he moved it.

John sure had worked him over this morning, Dean mused as he watched Sam riding around on his beloved bicycle. The kid was growing so fast the damn thing was nearly too small for him but Dean knew that there wasn't much chance of John buying a new one. Money was short, John would tell him as he thrust a can of beans and chick peas at him, expecting some sort of meal from it. Dean was a terrible cook, he knew that and it wasn't like John would ever let him forget it anyway, but the man had never taught him so Dean just muddled along as best he could and hoped he might get to eat some of it if he was lucky.

Of course, after last night's fiasco at the dinner table, Dean wasn't sure if he ever wanted to eat again. John had punished him long and hard for that – the guy hadn't wanted to mark him, not in front of 'Uncle Bobby' of course, so Dean had spent hour after hour in various stress positions until his muscles were screaming and cramping and even John with his rough, rough hands couldn't force them into position. Dean had trembled and spasmed all through the night, biting through his bottom lip as he tried to stifle his screams and groans.

Even now, twelve hours after, he would still experience occasional tremors and as for moving...well...somehow his adoptive father had managed to make even _that _a torture.

Dean was jolted out of his quiet misery by loud cough and he flinched reflexively, tensing for the inevitable cuff round the head or kick in the ribs. The forced movement twinged his aching muscles and he let out a quiet groan, wanting to do nothing more than just curl up and disappear.

"You alright there kid?"

Well _that _sure as hell wasn't John. Dean glanced up and was surprised to see Bobby Singer standing over him. Dean hoped that whatever the man wanted didn't involve moving too much.

"Mind if I sit here?" the man asked gruffly and Dean shrugged, looking away.

"It's your porch."

"And it's a damned long way down," Bobby groaned as he eased himself to the floor.

"That's better," the hunter sighed as he dusted off his jeans. "What you doing all the way down here?"

"Watching Sam," Dean replied sullenly, nodding to his little brother who was currently lapping one of Bobby's burnt out cars. The boy seemed to sense him watching and looked over, waving cheeringly, before panicking as the bike wobbled precariously. Dean was up in an instant but Sam easily regained control of the bike, pedalling away again and Dean breathed a sigh of relief before moaning as his leg muscles protested at the sudden movement, punishing for moving so quickly. The teen hadn't even thought he _could_ move that quickly with his muscles aching so much but it seemed that his well-trained instinct to protect Sammy wasn't going to let something like pulled or torn muscles get in the way of keeping Sam safe.

"Hey, you alright?" Bobby was up just as quick and Dean flinched from the elder man's touch before realising that the man wasn't hurting him, he was...helping?

Well that was weird... Dean didn't really know what to do or say in response to a kindness like that and he didn't like the feeling one bit.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, get off," he mumbled nervously, shrugging the man's hand away before cringing at how disrespectful he had just been. Damn...if John got wind of that he'd be in for even more punishment and he really didn't think he could handle that.

"Sorry, Sir," he murmured as he shakily sat back down. "I didn't-"

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Bobby interrupted Dean's apology and the teen panicked – was Bobby mad now? "Your legs are shaking like...th-that ain't normal kid!" Bobby exclaimed and Dean shuddered with dread, staring down at his traitorous limbs which wouldn't stop their frantic trembling no matter how much he willed them to.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," Dean admitted, clamping his hands down over his knees and then grimacing as his arms joined his legs in protesting about being moved and used.

"You're hurting..." Bobby observed with a quiet gasp and Dean cursed internally. Christ he was such a wuss, couldn't even keep a few sore muscles hidden.

"I'm fine," the teen spoke through clenched teeth, wishing with all his might for Bobby to just drop the subject – what did it matter if he was hurting after all? And then it dawned on him.

"I can still do the hunt tomorrow night, Sir," The adopted Winchester assured Bobby. "I won't screw it up."

"Son of a bitch, Dean, you're as bad as your Daddy," Bobby grumbled and Dean frowned curiously, he really didn't think he was. He'd never hit little kids like John had done to him growing up, like John _still _did to him even though he didn't class as a little kid any more.

"You ain't in a fit state to hunt and that's that, we need to find out what's the matter with ya," Bobby continued and Dean sighed miserably – didn't this guy think he _knew _that? It wasn't like he **wanted **to go hunting monsters, he'd much prefer to stay and look after Sammy like he normally did when John went hunting; to have some fun time with his little brother without John watching him like a hawk.

"I'm going to get John, he needs to see this," Bobby decided and Dean felt his heart drop to his stomach as the grizzled hunter began to move away.

"No!" he exclaimed, reaching out and grasping Bobby's arm. "Please Sir, I'm fine, there's no need to find him."

"The hell you're 'fine'," Bobby growled, gesturing to Dean's legs which were now just twitching spasmodically instead of the frantic trembling from before. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"No! No doctors," Dean insisted. This was so bad – if Bobby told John then John would blame Dean for brining attention to himself and then he'd really be in for it. John would either kill him or he'd be taken away from Sam and put back in the home, Dean wasn't sure which one he was more afraid of.

True, Sam was still a brat sometimes, as all ten year olds were, but he was a good kid at heart (especially considering the psycho he had for a father) and, now he no longer saw Dean as a threat for John's attention, the kid was warming up to him. If Dean was taken away from John, how did he know John wouldn't start beating on Sammy? The guy seemed to love his son but he was clearly a cruel bastard at heart and the older Sam got, the thinner John's patience with the boy seemed to wear.

"It's fine, I swear, I was just stretching last night and this always happens, Dad knows about it," Dean continued, licking his lips nervously.

"Dean do you wanna go on my bike?" Sam called out cheerily from all the way across the yard, buying Dean some precious time out from Bobby's questioning.

"S'alright, Sam," Dean yelled back, smiling a little at how Sam had, for some reason, waited until he was like 200 metres away before asking him. "You know I can't ride it as good as you!"

Truth was, Dean had never ridden Sam's bicycle in his life. Sammy's things were just for Sammy John had explained. Dean was sure that, if he actually _had _any stuff other than the battered old comic books Sam had give him six years ago, he would've been expected to share it with Sammy.

Bobby was grinning a little too as he watch Sam take off again on his bike accompanied by a series of high pitched engine noises that only a ten year old could make.

"See, I'm fine Sir," Dean lied; flashing a half-hearted smile and praying the hunter would be as gullible or disinterested as his teachers and fall for it.

"No you ain't..." Bobby shook his head sadly, running a hand though his hair as he leant against one of the porch pillars. "Tell me, Dean, do you love your Dad?"

_Hell no! _Dean thought to himself, the instinctual thought drowning out even his panic about being asked such a question.

"He's my Dad...sorta," Dean replied with a shrug, hoping Bobby would come to his own conclusion.

"Don't mean you have to love him," the elder hunter replied pointedly and Dean cursed internally – what the fuck was it going to take for this guy to just drop it?

"Dude this is sappy," the adopted Winchester mumbled, before correcting himself, "I mean...Sir, sorry."

"Ah, now I ain't like your Dad," Bobby responded. "I don't like being a 'sir', makes me feel old," he mock-whispered and Dean chuckled.

God...laughing was such a weird sensation, he didn't think anyone other than Sammy had made him laugh before. Maybe this Bobby Singer guy wasn't such a dick after all.

"'Dude' on the other hand..." Bobby continued, stroking his beard with mock thoughtfulness and Dean found, to his horror, that he was actually giggling. What the...he was a _guy_, guys didn't 'giggle'.

"Dad would kick my ass if I called him dude..." Dean thought to himself and then panicked as he watched Bobby Singer's face go from jovial to concerned...maybe that hadn't been to himself after all....shit.

"It's a figure of speech...dude," he added weakly, feeling a sweat start to break out on his brow. How could he have been so careless?!

"I mean...you don't really think..."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"He's pretty hard on you," Bobby observed with a casual shrug.

Dean wasn't fooled by Bobby's gentle questioning; he'd seen this tactic before. "Just when I fuck up," The teen replied. If only his legs weren't so fucked up he could just get up and walk away from all this.

"You 'fuck up' a lot?" Bobby continued, using that false-casual tone that was so frickin' annoying.

"Enough," Dean replied, shrugging with one shoulder and feeling more uncomfortable by the second. "It doesn't matter."

"Dean, son, if...if you feel...threatened then-"

"I don't, so it's fine," Dean cut the elder hunter off, speaking through gritted teeth – godammit this was like torture. He could imagine, if he let himself, admitting to Bobby that John beat the crap out of him every other week or so. That he was starved and punished over the tiniest trivial things. That John Winchester didn't see him as a son but a tool whose only purpose was to hunt demons and protect Sammy – he couldn't even bring in any money now John had adopted him rather than just fostering.

Maybe he could just stay here with Bobby and- _No! _

"Just leave it out, Sir, please?" the teen begged, not liking where his thoughts were headed at all. "John...Dad will only get pissed off if you say anything, it's not worth it."

"Alright kid," Bobby finally relented, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "But you're gonna be here a while...you change your mind, you know where I am."

Dean nodded absently but, as he stared at Sam still pedalling on that damned old bicycle, he knew he wouldn't.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Hi everyone, I really hope I managed to respond to everyone's review this time around. I am very very grateful for all your support. I want to warn you that the abuse in this chapter is a little more graphic than normal and there's knives involved soooo, please don't squick yourself if that bothers you. **

Chapter 13

"No John, this is crazy!"

As he sat in the backseat of the Impala, Dean struggled to hear John and Bobby's conversation.

"For god's sake, get off my back, Singer. The quicker we get this done the quicker we can go home and then we'll be out your hair," John snapped back at the man and Dean instinctively cringed from the older man's tone.

_Please, Bobby..._ he willed silently. _Please don't make him mad. Please, please, please..._

"I wouldn't be so worried if I thought you _gave _half a crap about the kid," Bobby snarled and Dean's heart thudded into the pit of his stomach. Oh God, Bobby was gonna bring **that **conversation up and John would hit the roof.

"Course I care about him," John snapped back and Dean stifled his gasp of disbelief. Was he really hearing right?

"Someone's got to watch out for Sammy when I'm gone and I'm too old to adopt another kid. Besides, it's taken me all these years to train Dean, no point in wasting them by getting him killed."

Dean's shoulders slumped. Of course he knew John didn't give a shit about him, it wasn't like the man didn't make it obvious enough, it was just that....it would be nice to think that...

_No_, Dean reprimanded himself. _It would be __**stupid **__to kid yourself that he cares about you not 'nice'. _

Dean let out a sigh, looking in the review mirror as he modelled his face from a dejected frown into what he hoped was a neutral expression. He didn't give a shit whether John Winchester liked him or not anyway, it wasn't like he _wanted _the bastard's approval so he wasn't going to go around looking and acting like he did.

"Oh gee, that's real considerate of you, John," Bobby growled sarcastically and, despite the gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach, Dean still took a second to bask in the novelty that someone was actually sticking up for him. And not like Sammy's half-hearted protests either but someone actually yelling right in John's face, he'd never seen _anyone _stand up to John Winchester like that and he fucking loved it.

"How dumb do you think I am?" Bobby continued, his voice so loud that Dean no longer had to strain his ears to make out what his 'father' and 'uncle' were saying. "I'm not _blind_, John, you don't love Dean, you never have. I figured that much out in a day."

"My kids are none of your damned business, Singer and if you believe whatever lies Dean's been telling you then you're a bigger idiot than he is," John hissed and Dean hated himself for being so afraid as he slunk down in his seat. Now John was really pissed and Dean was gonna pay the price for it, if he survived this hunt first of course, maybe it would be less painful if he didn't.

"Really, John? None of my damned business that you're torturing your son under **my **roof? What the hell is your problem?" Bobby bellowed and Dean buried his head in his hands; this was going from bad to worse, why did Bobby have to bring _that _up? Now John would _know _that he'd fucked up and let Bobby see how sore he was, that he had been such a pussy that he couldn't even suck up the pain for the few minutes Bobby had been around.

"My problem is that we should have left for this hunt five minutes ago," John snapped. "We should be halfway to killing the damned thing by now."

"Or the other way around," Bobby countered and Dean gulped. So John hadn't been kidding when he said this 'werewolf' would kill him if it got the chance. He really _was _going to have to be on his guard.

"Damnit John, are you even listening?" Bobby exclaimed and Dean wondered what his adopted father was doing to piss Bobby off so much.

"Well, listen to _this_," Bobby continued, his voice low and determined so Dean had to concentrate again to make out the words. "Tell me this one thing before you go, what would _Mary _think of what you're doing?"

Dean didn't know who Mary was but he figured she must be someone pretty important to John as the man immediately turned round and flung the open the door of the Impala with such force Dean was afraid it might come off the hinges. God knows John would probably blame him if that happened and he'd get punished for that too, as if he wasn't in enough shit already.

Dean wondered if he should say something, if there was _anything _he could say to lessen the inevitable beating coming his way. He doubted it and his throat seemed pretty useless at the minute anyway so it was probably just as well.

Thankfully, John didn't ask him any questions as he fired up the ignition. Didn't even hurl abuse at him which made a nice change for once but, as Dean knew from horrible, painful experience, there was no way that this was anything other than the calm before the storm.

* * *

As he stood in the abandoned clearing, staring out at the dark shadows of the trees around him, John had to fight the urge not to beat his adopted son senseless right there and then. The stupid bastard deserved it and out here in the middle of fucking nowhere there'd be no police, no CPS and now no Bobby holier-than-thou Singer to interfere. But no, John was a professional and he wasn't going to let the kid get out of this hunt so easily, the punishment could wait.

"The reports say it has a lair round here," John mused, partly to Dean but mostly to himself. "We just need to find the fucker."

"How are we gonna find it, Dean?" he asked, grinning as he watched the boy squirm with nerves. The dumb bastard didn't even have a clue.

"I'll give you a clue, one of us is going to be bait, can you guess who?" he mocked, relishing every second of the moment as realisation finally dawned on the stupid little bastard. Sammy wouldn't have even needed telling.

"Wh-what do I....what do I gotta do?" Dean eventually stammered out as John rolled his eyes impatiently.

"We've been through this a thousand fucking times," John growled, taking a grip on Dean's too-big shirt and yanking it over his head. "What attracts werewolves?" he barked and Dean replied instantly.

"Blood, sir."

So the dumb fucker did have half a brain, John thought with a snicker as he pressed a hunting knife into Dean's hand.

Or maybe not, he mused as the boy just stared dumbly at the blade.

"I-I should stab it?" Dean choked out and John couldn't resist cuffing the boy round the head. Well, he was only human after all, there was only so much restraint a man could show in the face of such insubordination.

"I want to see blood, Dean," he forced out through clenched teeth, giving the boy a rough shove on his bare chest. "Get to it, or I'll do it for you."

The boy's eyes grew even wider at that, his grip on the knife trembling as he hesitantly turned the blade towards himself.

"Do it," John glowered, his eyes gleaming at the thought of seeing such obedience. He was sorely disappointed however when all Dean managed was a thin scratch across his torso which barely trickled crimson.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," John growled, as he snatched the knife from Dean's shaking hands and slashed rapidly from the kid's right hipbone to his left shoulder prompting a howl of pain from the brat.

It wasn't a deep cut, John wasn't a idiot, but it was long and it was bleeding sufficiently. Dean was looking down at his chest, his breathing coming in frantic, panting gasps. Good job they were _trying _to attract a target because Dean's theatrics must have attracted every predator for fifty miles.

The brat's hands were shaking more then ever now, dripping with blood as they tried to staunch the flow of blood before the pain of pressure against the wound became too much and Dean pulled them away, only to panic at the sight of the blood and reach try again to stem the flow.

John watched, fascinated for a second by the blood trickling through Dean's fingertips and running in rivulets down his chest and abdomen, pooling around the waistband of his jeans. If the kid thought he was getting a new pair of trousers outta this he had another think coming.

"Now you stay there, and wait till the thing shows up. When it comes for you, I'm gonna shoot it."

He wasn't sure if Dean was even listening. The kid looked like he had gone into shock, useless little shit, but it didn't matter much. The kid would probably get out of the way on instinct if John missed his shot. If not...well, shit happens, John mused as he made his way into the shadows.

Dean was still standing, frozen in place and staring dumbly at his hands, that cut really was bleeding a lot more than John had intended it to but, hell, the kid deserved it for ratting on him to Bobby. If Dean hadn't gone running his mouth then Bobby wouldn't have mentioned..._her_...and John would've been a heck of a lot less pissed off. The boy would survive, he always did.

John forced himself to focus as he heard a low, rumbling growl that seemed to echo about the forest. His well-sharpened instincts soon located the wolf and he held his gun as it crept slowly out from the trees, so his intel had been good...damn he was a good hunter.

By the time John had finished congratulating himself the wolf was stalking towards Dean who was still rooted to the spot, paralysed with panic. John made a note to punish him for that later, on top of everything else, before raising his pistol and firing a bullet of solid silver into the beast's neck. It felt to the floor with a yelp and Dean _finally _moved, staggering away from the wolf's corpse, leaving a trail of blood splattered across the foliage.

John ignored him as he bent down next to the wolf's corpse to make sure it was dead, he knew his priorities and only once he was fully satisfied did he turn to his weakened foster child and, gripping the boy's upper arm bruisingly tight, he led the teen back to the Impala parked back on the roadside.

"Can you hear me boy?" he asked as he stared into the kid's glassy eyes.

The kid nodded and John was please to note he remembered his manners as he mumbled "S-Sir..."

John thrust Dean's shirt into the boy's bloodied hands and rapidly slapped the brat's wrists when he moved to press it against his bleeding chest.

"Sit on it," he ordered. "You bleed on my car and so help me god you'll rue the day we were born, you really don't want me any more pissed with you, punk," he glowered and, as his adopted son draped the shirt across the backseat of the Impala before shakily clambering in after it, John Winchester revelled in a job well done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi everyone, sorry this chapter is a little short**

Chapter 14

Bobby slumped down into his battered old armchair with a heavy sigh. Dealing with John Winchester was always tough but this...this was something else entirely.

Bobby felt disgusted with himself for not getting suspicious sooner. He'd been against John adopting a kid right from the outset of course but somehow the guy had managed to talk him into seeing the positives - a playmate for a Sammy, a life of adventure on the road versus a lonely, miserable existence in a care home... Eventually Bobby had decided that even if John couldn't give his kids much, he could give them his love, something Dean probably wasn't likely to get if he stayed in the care home. Hell, he'd ended up being so convinced that he'd even talked Jim Murphy into helping too.

So, in a way, this really was all his fault. And why the hell hadn't he suspected something when John hadn't brought the kid to visit him. Bobby had assumed that Dean was being left with Pastor Jim or some other babysitter but now he realised that the poor kid was probably just left on his own.

But hell, he could torture himself for years over this and it wouldn't do any good; the most important thing was how he dealt with it now he was aware.

Well, his first attempt at talking some sense into John hadn't gone so well, he reflected, and he wouldn't get another chance until the man returned from his hunt. Even then it might not be a good idea. Still, the eldest Winchester's absence meant that Bobby could check on little Sammy.

Bobby was pretty sure that Dean, the poor mite, had been the sole target if John's abuse but he'd learned his lesson about making assumptions, he wasn't going to take anything for granted as far as the Winchesters were concerned.

"Come on Squirt, bath time!" Bobby had to force the note of cheerfulness into his voice as he called down to Sam sprawled along the rug, engrossed in a book.

"I'm not a squirt, I'm big!" Sam protested, drawing himself up to his full height which, Bobby had to admit, was pretty damned impressive for a ten year old.

"I'm nearly as big as Dean now, I'm gonna catch up to him soon," the ten year old continued confidently and, Bobby had to admit, it was probably true.

"Do you think I'll be bigger than you when I'm gown up, Uncle Bobby?" Sam continued to chatter as Bobby herded him up to the bathroom.

"Maybe if you eat all your vegetables," the hunter replied gruffly, inwardly gleeful at Sam's obvious state of relaxation. He doubted that an abused child would be so animated – he definitely couldn't imagine Dean bounding to the bathroom like his younger brother was doing right now.

The pipes groaned and the taps creaked as Sam vigorously turned them before pulling off his clothes, bundling them up and throwing them into the corner. The boy was old enough to be aware of modesty but young enough not to worry about applying it. Bobby figured that there couldn't be that much privacy with three guys crammed into motel rooms together all the time. Luckily that was what he had been counting on and he ran his eyes clinically over the boy's body. His relief when he saw no marks or bruising was palpable and he breathed a relieved sigh which was drowned out by a splash as Sam all but jumped into the tub.

Satisfied with his findings, Bobby left Sam to his bath and made his way to the kitchen. He made a beeline for the fridge and reached instinctively for a beer. He wasn't about to get drunk on babysitting duty but he needed a cold one to calm his nerves.

Bobby still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that John Winchester, one of his closest friends and a man he'd trusted with his life on more than one occasion, could do something so fucking _awful _as to beat up on a kid. A kid he'd adopted as his own _son _for christsakes.

He'd always known that John's lifestyle meant he would have to be a firm parent and, as an ex-marine, the man was a firm believer in discipline but what was happening to Dean was cruelty, neglect; put simply it was abuse. Bobby Singer's friend was a child abuser – the thought made Bobby feel dirty and fucked up for even knowing the guy. How could a man who seemed so normal, who _was _so normal in anything that wasn't to do with Dean, be such a bastard? But then again, rhat fake parental concern John had shown had been all an act, how much more of John's behaviour was just a pretence for his friends and little Sammy? More importantly, how the hell had Bobby been dumb enough to fall for it?

Don't start with the pity trip, Singer, Bobby grumbled to himself as he took a swig from his can.

What he had to focus on now was getting Dean and Sam away from John; the man clearly wasn't fit to be a father. Although Sam didn't yet show any signs of abuse, Bobby knew that that could change if he took Dean away. This crazy, violent John Winchesters was so unpredictable that Bobby didn't know quite what to do. He'd thought that mentioning Mary might have brought the guy back to reality but it only seemed to have made him worse. Bobby only hoped that Dean wasn't suffering because of his mistake.

He could phone the police of course, or CPS, that's what any normal concerned citizen would do in his position, but even that seemingly obvious solution was full of holes. John had clearly avoided the CPS for years, Bobby was ashamed that he'd even helped the man do it a couple of times. He'd already seen John's masterful performance as the concerned father and he that if it was enough to fool him then it would hell fool some disinterested cop. Even if there was an investigation the emotional abuse would be damned near impossible to prove and John was seemingly very careful where he marked the boy when they were in company. Since he'd never taken the poor kid to a hospital there was no physical evidence of what had been happening over the past six years, And how exactly was Bobby supposed to convince the authorities that John was currently pitting his son against a werewolf? The hunter snorted – yea, the cops would _really _take him seriously then.

Even if he _did _manage to get the boy's away from John there was no guarantee that he'd be the one to keep them. As he looked down at his half-drunk beer and messy kitchen, Bobby knew he was no candidate for father of the year.

So, short of grabbing the boys and running like hell, Bobby figured he was fresh out of options and, as he glanced at the clock and heard Sam clambering out of the bath upstairs, he knew he was running gout of time.

* * *

Dean slumped in the back seat, his head resting against the Impala's windows. He was sure his temple would be bruised later as his head bumped against the glass with every jolt in the road but he was too weak and tired to do much about it.

The teen was almost grateful for the burning throb of his chest wound, it was the only part of him that felt warm. He tried not to whimper as another shiver wracked him but God he was so, so cold.

"You'd better be awake back there," John growled and Dean blinked furiously, trying to focus. It was hard though, his brain really didn't want to connect with his body and Dean couldn't blame it – his body _hurt _and it was so nice just to be floating here where the pain was just a dull and distant ache. If he could just float off a little more then maybe the pain would stop altogether.

Dean was brought back to Earth with an ear=splitting roar as John cranked up the volume on the car stereo and Dean's peaceful refuge within his mind was shattered by Meatloaf bellowing that he would do anything for love.

All Dean could do was cling to the tuneless roar that was his father's singing voice and wonder when, if ever, he was going to stop bleeding.

* * *

**AN: Ok so sorry that turned into a giant Bobby monologue but I really wanted to explore some issues I thought might be important. As easy as it would be to have Bobby beat up John and have the kids and everything be happy and wonderful, I personally feel that it wouldn't be treating the issue of domestic abuse with the seriousness it deserves. I want to try and be realistic with the fic and although that might mean slow pacing and a somewhat bleak read, it's really the only way I feel comfortable writing about the issue. Thank you for you understanding and all your lovely reviews - once again I apologise for the short chapter and hope you enjoyed it! **


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Bracing myself for an onslaught here..**

Chapter 15

Bobby fought not to snap at Sam as the boy craned his neck to see out of the window for the tenth time in as many minutes. Bobby had let the kid stay up to wait for his family on the condition that he read one of his schoolbooks while he was waiting. Sam was usually a bookworm, devouring any book he came across in Bobby's house, even the hunting reference books, but he'd been staring at the same page in that preteen novel for an hour now and Bobby knew full well that the boy had no intention of reading it.

Still, he didn't have it in him to snap at the kid, he could hardly blame him after all. He knew all too well what it was like to wait on tenterhooks, helpless and clueless as to how the hunt was going. Sammy was too young and sheltered to share all the horrific possibilities that Bobby's mind conjured up but he was smart enough to know that hunting was a dangerous business. He'd probably seen Dean come back hurt enough times to know that it wasn't just a game.

All things considered, it was a little unreasonable to expect Sam to be able to concentrate on some trashy preteen novel that was probably _way_ below his intelligence. But, he still had to give some appearance of authority as opposed to just letting the boy do whatever he wanted.

"Looking out the window isn't gonna make 'em appear any quicker," he grumbled to Sam who rolled his eyes in the long-suffering way that only a pre-teen can manage.

"I _know_," he answered sulkily as though Bobby were an idiot for suggesting that he might believe something so clearly ridiculous.

"But I might see the headlights before I see the engine, the speed of light is way faster than the speed of sound, did you know that Uncle Bobby?" And with that, Sam the kid was back, chattering about vacuums and thunder and lightning.

Bobby just sighed, letting the boy's chatter go over his head as he contemplated the flash of moodiness he had just seen. 'Little Sammy' wasn't going to be a little kid much longer and, as he turned from a child to a teenager, Bobby wondered what that would mean for the Winchester family. Sam was already beginning to realise that something wasn't quite normal with his family's dynamic and once he did...would John finally lay off his eldest son or would it just be a catalyst for an even more horrific series of events?

Bobby didn't have time to wonder for long as Sam quickly darted to the window, startled by the sound of tyres crunching on gravel.

"It's them! It's them!" he yelled excitedly, the schoolbook lying forgotten as he raced towards the front door.

"Hoooold up there," Bobby grumbled, stopping the boy's dash to the front door with a strong grip on his shoulder.

"But! But-"

Bobby cut the boy off with a glare, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Sorry!" Sammy whispered and Bobby just rolled his eyes, creeping slowly to the door.

John was stood on the porch, a furious glare in his eyes, Bobby figured that the man still hadn't forgiven him - Bobby couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, peering around John's form for any sign of the teen.

"Don't you mean Christo?" John smirked and Bobby fought not to show his annoyance, the man had got him there, his worry for Dean had overridden even _his _well engrained hunters instincts.

"Yeah. Christo. Where's Dean?" Bobby replied coldly.

"In the car," John replied with a careless shrug, not even casting a backwards glance to the vehicle. Bobby tried to mask his shudder, his gut was telling him something was wrong, very wrong.

"Is it Dad? Can I come out now?" came a plaintiff voice from the living room and Bobby watched in a mixture of awe and horror as John's heartless expression melted into a picture of paternal love.

"Where's my Sammy?!" the man beamed, shoving past Bobby with a push that was far too strong to be accidental.

As he rushed out of the door, Bobby could hear Sam protesting that it was _Sam _not Sammy and then, thankfully, he was out of range of the voices and on his way to the Impala. It was only a short distance but, as the car grew closer, Bobby slowed his pace until he was almost stalking towards the car. He couldn't tell _why _he was feeling so anxious but Bobby knew to trust his gut feelings anyway and he peered, with trepidation, into the back of the vehicle.

"Jesus Christ!" Bobby exclaimed as he finally caught sight of Dean slumped in the backseat. Even through the unwashed, mud splattered windows of the Impala Bobby could see how pale Dean was, and, for a heart-stopping moment, Bobby was sure the kid was dead.

"Dean!"

As soon as Bobby swung the door open, Dean toppled out and Bobby caught the teen before he hit the driveway.

"Dean? Dean?! Can you hear me?"

Bobby's free hand instinctively strayed to Dean's neck as his other one kept the teen seated upright. The hunter heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the weak thrum of a pulse beneath his fingertips. Dean's skin was freezing to the touch though and Bobby soon realised why as he noticed the huge crimson stain on Dean's chest.

_Shit_! The werewolf must have got him! Bobby grit his teeth and tried to stay calm. What the hell had John been thinking leaving the kid in the car like this? Dean could be about to bleed out on them here.

But, as the shock began to wear off, Bobby noticed that the cut was no longer bleeding. He could tell, not that he looked closer, that it was a shallow wound – a good job or Dean would have damned near been sliced in half.

But, as he sat on his driveway in the middle of the night, a, shirtless, half-conscious teenager slumped in his arms and hundreds of sharp little gravel stones digging into his ass, a horrific realisation began to dawn on Robert Singer. This cut, the cut that was responsible for the dried blood flaking all over Dean's chest, was too neat and clean to be made by any wolf. Bobby had seen hunters mauled by wolves before; werewolves tore ragged, ugly gouges into any flesh they could get their teeth and claws into – they didn't leave thin, tidy...mechanical cuts. No – it was humans who did that.

And Bobby didn't have to dwell on it any longer – he _knew_. He just knew.

And with that revelation - the understanding that John Winchester had deliberately, with cold, calculated malice, dragged a knife across his son's chest - came another realisation. Bobby knew, with complete and utter certainty that he couldn't let John Winchester lay another hand on this boy, authorities or not.

Dean's eyes were glassy as Bobby lifted him into the Impala's backseat; the teen was obviously in shock. As he headed back to the house, Bobby was already making a list of the things he was going to need; blankets, gauze, warm fluids...

Bobby knew that John would be too busy fussing over Sammy to worry about his other son lying barely conscious in the back of his beloved car. It would be easier to treat Dean out in the car where John wouldn't look. He doubted John would come out into the cold night just to check on the son he hated.

And, once Bobby got Dean patched up, it would be easier for him to decide what to do, how he could save Dean from the monster that was his father.

* * *

John watched as Sammy quickly threw his clothes, and a few of Dean's, into his bag. The man pressed a finger to his lips as Sam hastily pulled the zipper, the bag fastening with the sharp whine of metal teeth.

"Okay, I packed up, now can I see Dean?" Sam whispered harshly and John rolled his eyes. He didn't know when Sammy had turned into such a whining brat over Dean but he didn't like it much. He was doing everything he could to make Sam understanding how worthless his adopted brother was but the kid was just too nice for his own good.

"Be quiet," John whispered sternly, tilting his head as he heard the front door close again. Bobby was back inside but, judging by the lightness of his footsteps, he wasn't carrying Dean. Good.

"OK, Sammy, I need you to be a big boy and climb out that window, it's an adventure," John told his boy quietly, watching as Sammy's eyes brightened. He just hoped that this was one time where Sam wouldn't question him - they didn't have time to argue.

Luckily though, Sam seemed more than eager to prove himself as he pushed open the window, clambering onto the windowsill. "I **am **a big boy, Dad!" he exclaimed, looking behind him, and John's heart did a set of damned gymnastics in his chest.

"Keep your eyes forward, Sam!" he insisted and Sam just beamed in response.

"Now, can you reach that tree to the left?" John asked and Sam nodded enthusiastically.

Of course he could, John thought to himself with a smirk. Sam had Winchester blood pumping through his veins - he was already nearly as tall as Dean, four years his senior and probably just as strong.

"Ok, climb down, slowly and carefully," John instructed, "I'll be right behind you ok?"

"Okay, Dad," Sam echoed, and John watched as his son gripped tight to an overhanging branch and rapidly found foothold after foothold. Of course, Sam was a natural at climbing trees, John was going to have his work cut out to keep up.

"This is hunting practice, right?" Sam called up as John began his descent down the tree, his boy might be as good a tree-climber as any other boy his age but his discretionary skills needed work he thought ruefully.

"Like what you do with Dean?" Sam continued to chatter, not even out of breath as his feet landed on the packed earth beneath.

"Something like that," John grunted as he followed Sammy's path down the branches, trying not to snag the duffel as he did so. Last thing he needed was to get himself stuck in a tree with his ten year old son watching.

"That was easy," Sam smirked as John finally joined him on the ground. "I knew I'd be a good hunter if you let me try."

"Yeah, well, we'll see," John muttered, ushering Sam forwards with a hand on his back.

"Just stick close to the wall and keep quiet," he ordered quietly as they rounded the corner of the house until, finally, they were at the front, John's faithful car waiting patiently in the driveway. A quick glance in the windows revealed that Dean was still in there, draped across the backseat like a bum, that was just about right, John thought with a smirk.

"But-what...aren't we going to say bye to Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked as they climbed into the car. John sighed, he'd known this was coming and he quickly moulded his face into that of the cheerful, upbeat father and lied flawlessly.

"Sure we are Sammy, it's not like we're leaving forever."

And with that, John fired up the ignition and tore out of the Singer Salvage Yard with no intention of ever coming back. It was a shame in a way - he'd like to see Bobby's face when he realised that Dean was out of his reach now, that he wouldn't get to play out his pathetic, withered dream of fatherhood with the screwed up little punk in the backseat but still, he had his imagination for that didn't he?

Yeah, John thought smugly as he drove along, the car speakers silence for once, all the better to savour the thought of Bobby's anguished cries, sweeter to John's ears than any Rock and Roll.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

At thirteen years old Sam could never properly recall that car ride but he knew, somehow, that something had changed forever that night. He remembered seeing blood all over Dean's chest and being terrified that his brother was going to die. Remembered insisting that Dad took Dean to a hospital, screaming and crying and kicking at the car when he didn't get his way. And he knew that, from that day forward, Dad had never quite looked at him the same.

Other things had changed too; in the two years that followed they'd moved close to fifteen times, uprooting every couple of months with no explanations and no warnings and there were no more visits to Uncle Bobby, not even any _mention_ of Uncle Bobby. Sam sometimes wondered if he was going crazy and he'd just somehow imagined Uncle Bobby or something – Dad would cut him off if he so much as hinted at mentioning the man and Dean just clammed up and didn't want to talk about it.

The man must have existed, Sam had so many memories of him after all, but there were no photos, no one to share his memories with and no way to reach the man.

Dean still bore a scar, thin and faint across his chest and abdomen but Sam rarely saw it, rarely saw much of his brother's bare skin at all. Only now he knew that that wasn't normal for a seventeen year old boy.

He'd always known that Dad didn't love Dean like a father should. As a kid he'd thought it was normal, that it was okay for Dad to treat Dean like shit. Why? Because Dad said it was and Sam had believed his father's words as the gospel truth. As a preteen he'd begun to realise that something wasn't right, that it wasn't ok for father to play favourites, that Dean wasn't really a bad kid who always got into trouble, that no kid should have to sleep on the floor at night and that's when he'd started to argue.

It wasn't until that car ride two years ago though that Sam had realised how screwed up things really were. The guilt of that sickening realisation, the knowledge that his father had been physically and mentally abusing Dean, right under his nose and he had done nothing to stop it, was overwhelming.

He almost hadn't believed it, had almost managed, with the imagination that only a child is capable of, that he'd got it all wrong, that it was some kind of mistake, that there was a _good _reason Dad was refusing to take Dean to a hospital.

But the next day, when he woke up and burst into tears because Dean's bedsheets were stained with blood, only to watch his father slap Dean straight across the face without a hint of remorse, he'd realised that there was nothing good about his father. Nothing good at all.

"You're old enough to know the truth now, Sammy," Dad had shrugged as Dean simply stood, trembling, his chest still trickling blood, his head angled from the side with the force of Dad's slap.

And Sam, terrified by his father and awed by his big brother's strength had done the only thing an eleven year old _could_ do in that situation – burst into tears.

Later Dad had sat him down and 'explained' that Dean needed the odd slap now and again. That it was nothing he couldn't handle, nothing to make such a fuss over.

But at grand old age of eleven, Sam's morals were already solid and he remembered shaking his head repeating and over and over that it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair...it wasn't **fair**!

He remembered begging and pleading with Dad not to hurt Dean again, that Dean didn't mean to be bad, all the time hoping and praying that his old nice father would come back and go and give Dean hug or something.

But, as he looked back, he knew that Dad had never hugged Dean, never shown him any kind of affection, and that his 'nice' Dad had never existed. Dean had just ignored him when he had brought up the issue and even now, two years on as he watched, through the crack in the door, Dean nursing a set of bruised and maybe broken ribs. His big brother's stifled gasps of pain were heartbreaking and frightening in equal measure and, since Dad was out on a hunt, Sam figured that Dean was only doing it so _he _wouldn't hear.

He knew Dean hated being seen like this, knew he didn't like to talk about or even acknowledge the abuse. But, dammit, Sam wasn't eleven any more – he was thirteen, a _teenager_!

"Dean what happened?" he yelled as he barged into the motel bathroom, watching as the look of shock and anger flashed over Dean's face.

"What are you doing, Sam? Get out!" Dean scowled, quickly jerking his shirt and then sucking in a gasp of pain at the fast movement.

"You're hurt," Sam protested, folding his arms dramatically over his chest.

"And you don't know how to knock," Dean answered back, "Get out Sam, I need some privacy."

"Dad did that to you, didn't he? Don't lie, Dean, I know he did. I'm not stupid," Sam glared hoping he sounded intimidating enough that Dean would tell him the truth.

"So what if he did?" Dean sneered, "What are you gonna do about it? Start crying again?"

"Shut up!" Sam yelled back, he **hated **it when Dean brought that up. "I was a kid then, I'm an adult now! I've come to help."

"No, you're a bratty teenager who won't leave his big brother alone," Dean argued and Sam sighed, rolling his eyes.

"You're a teenager too," He answered back. "You're seven**teen**, a _teen_ager."

"Oh wow, you really _are _a genius, Sam! Please share _more _of your wisdom with me."

Sam glowered as he listened to Dean making fun of him, **again**. All he was trying to do was help and Dean was just acting like a...

"Jerk!" Sam yelled, slamming the stupid door behind him. Who cared if Dean was hurt anyway, it probably wasn't _that _bad. He didn't deserve any help. The youngest Winchester sulked as he lay on the motel bed, pretending not to hear Dean's muffled retort of 'bitch' coming from the bathroom.

* * *

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Sam slammed the door shut. The deep breathing immediately twinged his ribs and cursed quietly, covering his cry of pain with an inane retort to Sammy's name-calling.

The kid was right of course, he _was _being a jerk and he hated it. Deep down he wanted nothing more than someone to be gentle with him, someone to be nice to him, maybe even help out a little. And the only person in the entire world who would take time out to do that was Sam, and maybe Bobby...but Bobby was gone, probably even hadn't bothered looking for him. Had probably _encouraged _John to take him away.

Dean can't remember much of that night, most of his memories hazy with pain and blood loss and exhaustion. Even when he closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could, all he could remember was fear, pain and a horrible, bone-chilling cold.

Sometimes he thought he remembered being held....kind words and a gentle voice. But that couldn't be right, Dean recognised that for what it was – his brain's pathetic attempt at deluding himself into believing anyone gave a shit about him. And that just proved how pathetic he was, just like he was pathetic to want to the kindness of a thirteen year old kid.

It wasn't even **that **bad, he decided, as he lifted his shirt once again to look at John's latest handiwork. His ribs were bruised, which hurt like fuck but not broken and thankfully, the man's boot had missed his kidneys. Maybe the bastard had been going easy on him? Hell, Dean couldn't even remember what he'd **done** only that John had sent Sammy to the car for something and the next minute Dean was on the floor with a boot heading for his midsection.

Trying to keep his breathing shallow enough to irritate his ribs Dean sat down on the closed toilet seat, burying his head in his hands. It wouldn't be so bad if he got enough to eat, if John would give him enough to put some weight on then his ribs wouldn't stick out so much and they wouldn't...oh what the fuck did it matter? Someone stamping on his chest was going to hurt no matter what. John liked him hungry, meant he was too weak and scrawny to put up much of a fight.

John's cupboards were always bare, the fridge stocked with a few essentials so Dean lived off whatever John brought in – pizza, Chinese, curry and just hoped he'd be lucky enough to share some. Sam had tried sneaking him food off his plate for a few nights and Dean had felt guilty as fuck that he'd accepted it, knowing Sam would end up hungry too. His moral dilemma had been solved for him when John caught them red handed and had dragged Dean into the bathroom and stuck his fingers down his throat until Dean puked up the meal and everything else from that day. And then, after John stuck his fist in his gut, a bit of blood too.

Dean wasn't sure who'd been paler after that little episode, him or Sam but he'd seen the flash of rebellion in his little brother's eyes and just shook his head wearily. Not tonight, not now...he'd pleaded with his eyes as Sammy had seethed at the table and Sammy had, thankfully, let it go, sitting ashen and silent at the table as John finished his meal. Both children had watched John scrape the scraps into the bin and whilst Dean had been to drained and afraid to care, Sam had cried silent tears.

And those tears were why Dean wouldn't leave...couldn't leave. Why he didn't just run out of this motel right now while John was gone and never look back. He knew though that if he left John would turn his attentions on Sammy, he'd seen it more and more the last two years. The odd shove here, a cuff round the head there...nothing like the beatings Dean got on a weekly basis but that would change, Dean knew it would change – Sam was no longer John's perfect little boy any more. Now the kid was old enough to have a mind of his own and it hadn't turned out to be a warped and twisted mind like his father's. Even if he could be sure Sam wouldn't suffer any repercussions, the thought of being out on the streets, completely and utterly alone was even more terrifying than John Winchesters.

He could take Sam with him, Sammy had brought that idea up often enough but it wouldn't work. Dean knew he could barely take care of himself on the streets, let alone Sammy too. All the training John put him through meant he could probably steal enough food, maybe even cash, to survive – hell he'd probably eat better on the streets than he did with John. But not enough for a roof over his head, he was too dumb to get any kind of job – who would want to hire some scrawny, uneducated street punk who hadn't even graduated from high school?

Sammy needed an education, somewhere to sleep...all things that John, as shitty a father as he was, provided; for now anyway.

So Dean was stuck with the bruises and beatings, with the hunger and hunting and with the knowledge that his little brother was only hope he had in his bleak and miserable existence and all Dean could do was push him away. It was the only way he knew how to protect his little brother from seeing the worst of John's abuse. He wasn't an idiot and he knew Sammy wasn't either but, if he could shelter the kid from even one beating, even one bruise, just give his little brother a couple more minutes at a normal life (as normal as they could have) then he would do it.

And that was harder for him for him to take then any of John Winchester's blows.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: They say the final year of our degree will take over your life for about 6 months....for once _They _know what they're talking about. Sorry for the long wait, gotta put my education first.. **

Chapter 17

Dean rolled his eyes as he looked up to see Sam still standing in the doorway. The kid pulled this routine every morning now, standing in the doorway to the bedroom and just looking..._looking _at Dean with those goddamn puppy dog eyes.

"**Go**,Sam," he ground out as he lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He really didn't have a right to order Sam anywhere, this was _his _room after all. But John hadn't seen fit to make sure there was a bed for Dean so Sammy let him share. Most of the time Dean camped on the floor, too bruised or proud for any physical contact but sometimes Sam would swap with him and Dean would spend some nights in relative comfort.

"But..."

They'd had this argument so many times Dean knew what Sam wanted to say before he even said it. "I don't want to leave you with him."

"I'm fine, Sam, I can take care of myself," Dean lied. "Get to school."

"A-are you training today?" Sam asked not even acknowledging Dean's attempt at confidence.

Dean knew why Sam was worried. John's training was brutal and exhausting...Sam hated seeing Dean go through it as much as Dean hated doing it. But, if John was going to keep dragging him out hunting then Dean needed to know it all. He knew from bitter experience that John wouldn't give a damn if he was hurt – Dean had to learn to take care of himself.

"I can handle it," Dean answered his brother, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "You're going to be late."

"I...Dean I can't leave knowing what he's gonna do to you."

"Yes you can," Dean insisted, not without sympathy. He knew it must be hard for Sam to leave knowing that when he came back his brother would be a broken, exhausted mess. How was the kid supposed to function at school knowing that while he sat in Math class his brother was being forced to tread water for hours in a freezing lake? How could he chill at lunch break with his buddies knowing that while, they were eating and laughing, his brother was hungry and weak, throwing up blood and bile.

_This _was why he'd wanted to keep the abuse secret, to try and keep Sammy's life as normal as possible. Now he was fucking everything up, letting Sam see what a screw up he was, how _weak _he was.

"I'll be fine," Dean insisted. "I'm not having this argument ag-"

Dean broke off at the sound of smashing bottles, exchanging wide-eyed stares with Sam before gesturing frantically at the door. Sam cast him one last, frightened glance before running from the room; Dean didn't relax until he heard the front door slam. _He _was in for it, he knew that much, but at least now Sam wouldn't see it, he hoped to hell the kid had actually gone to school and wasn't just lurking outside the house.

"Where the fuck are you, boy?!"

Dean flinched as he heard John bellowing his name and he could feel himself trembling before he even made it down the stairs. John was in the kitchen frying an omelette and Dean tried to ignore his gnarling stomach.

"Clear the living room," John ordered and Dean moved quickly to obey, glad to be away from the tantalising smells of food and from his father.

The room was fairly big but cluttered with beer cans and bottles; Dean simply kicked them to one side as he struggled to push the heavy, tattered furniture to the edges of the room. After a good few minutes of heavy work he was standing in the middle of the cleared out space and staring at the deep indents in the carpet made by furniture that probably hadn't moved in decades.

He jumped when John threw a pair of worn out boxing gloves at him, only his well honed instincts had him catch them. He noted with weary resignation, that John's fists were bare and unprotected...of course. He'd only started making Dean wear mitts since Dean started to get a few punches in.

"Sparring," John grunted and Dean nodded, wishing he'd had time to stretch and have a drink or at least a couple of minutes to wake up properly.

But he didn't complain, silently slipping the old mitts onto his hands and eyeing up his father. And then he was ducking a furious lunging haymaker, swerving and weaving and throwing up his forearms to dodge and guard John's heavy attacks. Every now and then he'd throw out a few jabs of his own but he was hungry and tired and John dodged the sluggish punches with ease.

"Sharpen up!" the man bellowed, and Dean staggered backwards from a powerful shove, tripping over his dragging feet and gasping as his head smacked on the corner of a table as he landed.

"Get up."

There wasn't a hint of sympathy in John's words and Dean groaned as he made his precarious way back to his feet. The world wobbled and span in that dizzy way Dean was used to and the next fifteen minutes were a sickening, unbalanced fight for survival as John Winchester's fists pummelled any part of his body they could find.

His reflexes, finely honed from years of fear and pain, had him dodging most of the hits without having to consciously think about – a blessing since his thoughts were muddled and blurred, slurred together in his aching, bleeding head.

The teen didn't remember being knocked out but he figured he must have been because the next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor with Sam tapping his face.

Dean groaned, batting away at his brother's hovering hands. Sam was back from school? Had he really been out for so many hours? No...no way, there was no way John would have let him sleep that long, knocked out or not.

"You're bleeding," Sam muttered, checking Dean's injuries with worrying efficiency.

Dean groaned again, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. But first he had to make sure Sam was okay. Why was the kid here and not in school?

"Sam..." Dean blinked sluggishly, trying to clear his double-vision and focus on his little brother.

"Yeah, Dean. Do you know what day it is?"

Dean didn't but he wasn't going to admit that to Sam.

"You should be in school."

Dean groaned as he sat up, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds until he guessed the room had stopped spinning.

"It's a good job I'm not," Sam argued back but his tone was more worried than angry. Dean didn't have the strength to nag, so he just gave Sam what he hoped was a disapproving look before reaching gingerly behind him to check the damage at the back of his head.

"It looks bad, Dean," Sam mumbled sounding more like a kid and less like a nurse now that his initial adrenaline rush had faded.

It's nothing," Dean lied, fighting the swell of nausea as he clambered to his feet.

Mistake! Mistake! His brain blared as the room tilted around him. Luckily Sam was there to prop Dean up with his freakishly long arms and he avoided the otherwise inevitable faceplant into the floor.

"I need to lie down a second..." Dean mumbled, afraid if he opened his mouth too much he might vomit all over the carpet. There was already a big brown bloodstain, the last thing he needed was to mess up the floor even more. After all, that would just give John one more reason to punish him, as if the bastard even _needed _a reason these days.

* * *

Sam grunted as he practically dragged Dean up the stairs, his brother's legs were weak and shaky; no wonder after what Dad had done to him. Sam wasn't even sure if he should be moving Dean, the guy needed an ambulance for crying out loud, not his stupid little brother who ran away to school instead of staying to fight off Dad.

Dean kept telling him he needed to do well at school, that he needed to get his GED but Dean just didn't get it. Sam didn't care about any of that stuff; he cared about his big brother. He didn't get why they couldn't just run away, why couldn't they just sneak out to...somewhere, _anywhere_? Anywhere but here... Sam blinked back tears as he kicked open his bedroom door and helped Dean lay down on the lumpy mattress.

Dean looked so pale, so...hurt. There were bruises all over his face and arms, purple blotches on his chest and abdomen. Dean hadn't even _done _anything, it wasn't fair...it wasn't **fair**.

Sam watched as his brother faded into unconsciousness and seethed; if he hadn't come back early from school Dean could have slipped into a coma, he could be _dead_. Dead!

Sam pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he felt tears prickling beneath his lids. It was pathetic, he was here standing at Dean's bedside, crying like a baby when he should be...he should be...he should be doing _something_! He didn't know what he was meant to be doing but there had to be some way to stop all this.

Dean said they couldn't tell the police, or the teachers and Sam didn't want to tell them anyway. He hated the way adults looked at Dean, like he was bothering them even when he was just standing still. They would smile at Sam and ruffle his hair and then look at Dean like they didn't even want to be near him. It wasn't Dean's fault he had old clothes and scruffy hair, wasn't his fault he was too thin and he didn't smile a lot. Dean was out all the time hunting monsters and saving everyone and none of them even wanted to _look _at him. Sam hated them; the teachers, the police, the stupid social workers who hadn't saved Dean, stupid Uncle Bobby who'd never come to help them, he hated them all.

Sam reached out and touched his big brother's forehead; Dean would hate it if he knew Sam was pitying him like this but he was unconscious and he'd never know. It was _only _when Dean was unconscious, or close to it, that he would allow Sam to comfort him, the rest of the time he just struggled along by himself and Sam could only sit back and watch.

Sam tensed at the sound of the door slamming, drawing his hand rapidly away. Dad...shit. He'd felt so brave when he'd walked out of school after first period. He had a whole speech prepared in his head; he was gonna tell Dad he was sick of him beating on Dean, that it wasn't fair, he was gonna make Dad see how cool Dean was. Except now he couldn't even breathe, let alone talk, as he listened to Dad stamping around downstairs.

Suddenly he didn't feel brave at all...suddenly he felt like he'd made a very, very bad move. Squaring his shoulders, Sam glanced down at his injured brother one last time; that was all the motivation he needed to push open the door and head out to confront their father.

* * *

"Dad, I'm home."

Sam could smell the alcohol around his father before he was even halfway down the stairs and he cringed. Dad was so much worse when he was drunk, not psychically, if anything he was clumsier when he was drunk, but the things he'd say to Dean...Sam knew those insults hurt his brother even if he didn't admit it.

"Sammy? Why aren't you at school?"

Damn. He'd hoped that Dad might have been drunk enough not to realise the time.

"I-I felt ill," Sam lied, blushing as he did so. So much for confronting Dad, all he wanted to do was run back upstairs. Hopefully Dad would just let it drop and-

"You look fine," Dad narrowed his eyes and Sam squirmed guiltily halfway up the stairs. "Don't lie to me, Sam."

Sam's breath caught in his chest and his heart hammered behind his ribcage. Was this how Dean felt around Dad all the time? So scared?

"Are you bunking off school?" Dad demanded as he beckoned Sam down the stairs.

"I...I was worried about Dean," Sam admitted, hoping to ease his father's temper with a little honesty.

"_Dean_?" Dad echoed with a sneer, scrunching up his face like the idea was something disgusting. "Don't waste your time worrying about him."

"He was out-cold when I came home, Dad," Sam replied, his voice rising in pitch and volume despite how hard he was trying to stay calm.

Dad shrugged, taking a swig out of his can. "Don't get your panties in a bunch over it," he chuckled at his own joke.

Sam could feel his eyes welling up again and he stuffed his hands into his pockets so Dad wouldn't see them trembling. "It's not _funny, _Dad!"

"You want to know what's not funny, Sam?" Dad's voice was suddenly very loud and Sam cringed – if he'd just laughed along with Dad about Dean then the man probably wouldn't be mad with him, but he couldn't do that, couldn't even pretend to find it all funny.

"It's not _funny_ that you think it's acceptable to bunk of school to spend time with that worthless piece of crap upstairs! That's what's not fucking funny, Samuel."

Sam opened his mouth to shout something back but Dad's tirade continued, drowning out Sam's meagre attempt at n argument.

"Do you want to be like him, huh? Is that it?" Dad raged. "Some punk ass retard who couldn't even manage to finish High School, is that who you wanna be, Sam?"

"You _made _him quit school!" Sam argued back. "He's not a retard!"

"Listen to me, Samuel," Dad glared, grabbing Sam's arm and dragging him down the last couple stairs, Sam gasped at how painful the grip was.

"I have enough trouble trying to keep that little prick upstairs in line," Dad gestured to the ceiling with his right hand and Sam screwed up his face as they were both splashed with beer from the can Dad seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

"I don't have time for you to fuck me about, Sam."

"He doesn't do anything _wrong_!" Sam cried tearfully, frightened and angry and helpless. "You just hurt him for the fun of it, you're sick, I...I hate you!"

Sam wrenched away from Dad's grip but the man was strong and the youngest Winchester cried out as his father tightened his grip even more. It _hurt_! It really, really hurt!

"Dad that-"

Sam's were cut rapidly off as his head flew to the side. He recognised the movement before he felt the pain but, when the pain did come, a fraction of a second later, it hit hard and the boy sobbed.

Dad just slapped him...

Held upright with a crushing grip on his slender arm and his head still tilted to the side, Sam Winchester's tears mingled with the sticky alcohol drying on his face and he knew that, for the second time in his teenage life, his world had changed forever.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi everyone. Well, sorry for the very long wait - those of you on my LJ know the story, lol. Hopefully I will be updating lots more now, sorry for keeping you all waiting so long. Thank you to Joonepur for a fantastic beta of this chapter! **

Chapter 18

Sam scrambled up the stairs and into his bedroom, waiting until he was safely behind the door before bursting into tears. He heard Dean startle on the bed and immediately felt guilty for waking the older man - Dean was hurt and needed his rest. But, God, Sam wanted his big brother right now, more than ever.

"Dean! Dean..." he wanted to say everything at once but had no idea where to start. Dean was barely sat upright on the bed before Sam flung himself into the older man's arms.

"Sam...Sam what's happened?"

Dean was pushing him away, trying to look at his face but Sam just clung harder to his brother, pressing his face into Dean's shoulder as he sobbed.

"Sam, talk to me, did he hurt you?"

Sam still couldn't find it in him to speak but he nodded against Dean's shoulder. Immediately he felt Dean's whole body tense and he tentatively pulled away, almost frightened by the rage on Dean's face.

"..._Fuck_," Dean whispered, his hands tracing Sam's stinging cheek.

Sam was surprised by the emotion in Dean's bloodshot eyes; he'd never seen Dean like this before. And suddenly, staring at the multitude of cuts and bruises that littered Dean's face, Sam felt so ashamed – here he was sobbing and snivelling like a girl over one tiny slap when Dean had put up with so much worse for years and years. And Sam hadn't helped him...the guilt and the shame and the pain and the fear it was all...Sam's thoughts zoned out as his head filled with static, Dean's voice came from so far away that Sam couldn't make out the words.

"Breathe! Sam, breathe!"

Sam obeyed, gulping in a huge sobbing gasp of air and the world became a little clearer.

"That's it, that's it," Dean's hand was rubbing his back and Sam focussed on that, not the buzzing in his ears. Feeling suddenly hot he pulled away from Dean, sitting down on the threadbare carpet.

"Talk to me, Sam," Dean insisted and Sam tried to force words past the lump in his throat.

"It...it was Dad. He...he hit me," Sam explained, still barely able to wrap his own mind around that truth.

Dean scowled at that and Sam cringed, he didn't want Dean to be angry. He didn't want anyone to be angry any more. He just wanted things to go back to normal. But then...normal for Dean was experiencing pain like this and worse every day, Sam had only a small taste of it and...it was awful. How had Dean put up with all of it for so many years? For nearly his entire _life_!

"Why?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing and Sam felt almost guilty because he knew Dean was going to be mad. But...but no! No he _wouldn't _feel guilty for doing the right thing. He wasn't going to, no matter what Dean said.

"I-I told him I hated him."

Okay, so it was more of a murmur than the confident assertion Sam had been hoping for but he'd said it all the same. To his surprise, Dean didn't yell, not straight away, but simply shook his head.

"What did you go and do that for, genius?"

Sam bristled at the nickname, pouting as he shot back his retort. "Because it's true."

"Yeah, well, I hate him too. Just because it's true, doesn't mean it's a good idea to say it to his face," Dean rolled his bloodshot eyes and Sam gritted his teeth, Dean was pissing him off more and more every sentence.

"Someone had to," Sam replied. "Someone has to stick up for you."

"No, Sam, they don't."

"Yes they-" Sam tried to counter but Dean interrupted once again.

"You're lucky that's all he did to you, Sam. You could have been dead, over me, it's **not **worth it."

Sam could only sigh, running a hand through his hair. He hated how Dean didn't think anyone should help him, but it was true that pissing Dad off wasn't a good idea. But he'd done it now so...

"What are we going to do?"

Dean's answer came out of the blue and Sam didn't know whether to be delighted or petrified, maybe both.

"We're going to run."

* * *

_Run_. The word hung heavy and foreboding in the air and Dean almost regretted it. _Almost_. He'd imagined it so many times, played it over and over after every beating, imagined it a hundred different ways every hour he was locked in a closet or tossed in the trunk, that he was acting almost on auto-pilot as he reached under the bed for their worn out duffels.

"Run? Seriously? We're getting out of here? For real?"

Sam sounded excited and Dean nodded, trying to get swept up in Sam's optimism rather than giving in to the panic and fear churning in his stomach.

"We can't stay. It's dangerous for you now," he replied, partly as explanation to Sam and partly as reassurance to himself. "Pack your stuff. Quickly."

Sam grinned, the stinging in his cheek seemingly forgotten as he scrambled to his feet, haphazardly gathering his belongings.

As Sam busied himself, Dean stared down at his battered old rucksack. It was the same old bag he'd brought his pitiful few possessions in as a frightened, timid eight year old and even now, nearly a decade on, he still hadn't amassed enough stuff to fill it more than half full. His crumpled, mismatched outfits were balled up at the bottom, a few cents of loose change jingling between the folds, and, in the midst of it all, one of John Winchester's hunting knives; the same knife that John had carved up his torso with 3 years ago. When he considered _that_, Dean found himself feeling a little more excited about running away than before.

Glancing around the sparse room, Dean pulled a threadbare blanket off the bed and stuffed that into his bag too. He'd rolled his eyes and yelled at Sammy for stealing when the kid, ten years old at the time, had given it to him but now, he figured, it might come in handy and it wasn't like he was _overloaded _with stuff to take.

"Sam, what the hell are those?" Dean questioned as he watched Sam trying to sneak something bright red and shimmering into his duffle.

"…Swimming trunks," Sam admitted, his reluctance suggesting that even _he _knew it was a stupid idea.

"I know you don't have any, but we can get you some and then we can go swimming together!" the younger Winchester continued, and Dean realised, with worrying certainty, that Sam wasn't thinking of packing space or travelling but what they'd be doing for fun. And with that, Dean's fleeting spark of optimism was extinguished under a wave of responsibility and fear.

"This isn't a game, Sam," Dean couldn't muster the energy to be angry and his tone was weary and exhausted. "We've got to focus on where we're going to _eat _and _sleep_, not what we're going to do fun."

"I…I know," Sam mumbled, the light fading from his eyes as he turned his gaze to the floor. "I just thought…since Dad won't be here you could…you could have fun and stuff, for once."

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched in an involuntary smile at Sam's concern.

"We will, kiddo, we _will_ have fun. We just need to…sort ourselves out first," Dean smiled a smile which didn't reach his eyes as he tried to cheer them both up.

"Well, we need to get out of here first, right? What if Dad comes up now?" Sam sounded suddenly more mature and Dean nodded his agreement.

"I'll go down check the coast is clear, I'll knock three times if it's safe, alright?"

The question was rhetorical but Sam's face fell immediately as he chimed in with his inevitable two cents.

"But Dean, you're hurt already, if he sees you…"

"I'll be fine," Dean interrupted but Sam had donned his bitch face as he shook his head.

"No, you won't, cos if he thinks you're running away he's gonna kick the crap out of you. And then maybe me and then we'll be in big trouble afterwards if he's finds out we're running away."

"Keep your voice down and he _won't _find out will he?" Dean hissed.

"Stop avoiding the issue," Sam glowered and Dean rolled his eyes, _teenagers_.

"Sam, I've avoided beatings from him my whole life, I'm sure I can avoid one-"

"Well you haven't done a very good job have you?"

The phrase sat heavy in the air as Dean processed it for a minute, and then, with a sudden rush of anger, surged to his feet. The movement, he soon realised, was a mistake as his concussed brain and aching limbs struggled to process the sharp movement.

"Dean!" Sam was at his side in a second and, in the face of such concern, Dean couldn't stay angry.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologised as he helped Dean steady himself. "I didn't mean it, I'm just worried."

"S'alright," Dean mumbled his reply, still reeling from the wave of motion sickness that hadn't quite faded.

"Are you sure you're up to this? Maybe we should wait a while? Wait until you're better."

"He'll never let me get better," Dean answered dolefully, alarmed to find his eyes beginning to water. "I've waited nearly ten years to get away from that bastard, it's now or never."

"Now or never," Sam agreed, giving Dean's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Dean knew, at that moment, that, although they were in for the toughest time of their lives, at least they were in it together.

* * *

**AN: So I hope that was worth the wait. A bit of cautious optimism for the boys for a change. I just wanted to address an interesting review that I got regarding Dean and Sam's relationship. It was unsigned so i'm sorry I couldn't respond to the person drect but i think she made some really valid, interesting points as to whether Dean really would grow to like San. I personally think that what I've depicted is at least, a feasible possibility - I can certainly see things going the other way and Dean hating Sam, and I'm certain that I've romanticised the situation a fraction as it _is _fanfiction after all but I _do _think, in my defence that this relationship _could _develop. When debating with myself about the development relationship I drew upon instances of Stockholm syndrome and my research on domestic violence in relationships as regards dependency; those are, of course, unhealthy bases for a relationship but whether that _is _the form of the relationship between Dean and Sammy...I'll leave that up to you to decide. So thank you, once again, for those who leave me constructive criticism like that because it really makes me think about what I'm doing and areas in my writing that I need to address and improve which is great for writers _and _readers! **


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Stupidly long delay, sorry abou that, my life is so hectic these days. Thanks so much to joonepur for betaing this!**

Chapter 19

As soon as the door clicked quietly closed behind them, Sam and Dean broke into a sprint. Sam felt like he wanted to run forever, across the ocean if he had to. The thud of his feet on the asphalt was the echo of freedom, every step taking him further from his father and closer to freedom. But Dean, still recovering from his last savage beating and weak with malnutrition _couldn't _run forever. And now Sam, with his longer legs, had a longer stride, and so, after only minutes, Dean was stumbling, his face chalk white and dripping with sweat as he panted with exertion.

As Sam slowed his pace, gradually coming to a stop, his thoughts also slowed down as the natural high of freedom and endorphins faded. Dean, beside him, was bent over, hands on his knees, trying to get enough air into his lungs despite the obvious pain of his ribs. Sam hadn't known about that injury but it didn't surprise him, the amount of times he'd seen Dad boot his brother in the side as he curled on the floor, broken and defenceless ,was almost too many to count. As he thought back to those horrifying scenes, the itching in Sam's feet was stronger than ever and he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder; they were still in the suburbs, if Dad drove past in the Impala...

"Come on Dean," he encouraged softly, placing a hand on his brother's sweat dampened back. "We need to keep moving."

Dean's eyes were glazed and heavy with exhaustion as he stared upwards, his body and head still bowed and Sam felt a surge of panic at that weary look. Only when Dean cracked a weak smirk, did Sam relax even a fraction.

"Since when do you get to give the orders, Sasquatch?"

Sam wanted to smile but, gripped by anxiety, he just rolled his eyes and took hold of Dean's arm. He'd smile later, when they were safe. _If _they were safe. He had to make them safe. _How?_

Dean was compliant as Sam led him through a maze of side streets and back alleys, a worrying sign, a sure sign of how exhausted he was. He was _heavy _dammit. Sam had thought that, when Dean said they were going to escape, he'd had some kind of plan of _how _they were going to do it. Sam did his best not to feel resentful, knowing it was fear and shock making him so emotional; it wasn't Dean's fault he couldn't help much. But even though he kept his horrible thoughts in his head, Dean seemed to sense that the mood had changed, freeing himself from Sam's supportive hold and staring warily at his younger brother. And then Sam just felt like an even bigger dick – Dean was using the skills he'd learned in order to avoid getting beat by Dad to avoid _him_.

"Dean?" His voice sounded strained as he pretended not to know what was wrong. Pretended that he wasn't aware of the vibes of resentment he was emitting. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean lied and Sam felt even guiltier. He'd prefer Dean to yell at him, tell him he was an asshole, tell him he was being unreasonable...anything! Sam knew he was all those things and more. He hadn't _meant_ to think those things but he _had _and he deserved to face Dean's wrath.

"I can walk by myself, I'm not a cripple," Dean laughed, the sound devoid of humour, and Sam bowed his head, his guilt steadily increasing. It wasn't just _those _thoughts he was feeling guilt over, the boy realised. It was everything, all of it - all those times Dad had told him Dean was a brat, that Dean needed keeping in line, that Dean didn't deserve anything. Sam had believed it. He'd fucking _believed _it! He'd thought it too. How could he have believed that? How could Dean even stand to look at him after Sam had put him through so much?

Sam inhaled sharply, stuffing his tight, trembling hands into his pockets. That was a discussion for another day. One Sam was _not _looking forward to.

"You're hurt," the younger Winchester countered as Dean tried, unsuccessfully, to act like he wasn't.

"Yeah whatever, Florence, I'm fine," Dean lied again. Sam didn't miss the flinch of pain that crossed Dean's features as the older man tried to stand straight. The ribs, again, it was _always _the ribs.

"Just...uh...let me get my bearings and I'll uh...I'll figure out where we're...where we need to be heading."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, not sure whether to feel pleased that Dean was trying to make him feel better by pretending to be confident and assured or insulted that the guy thought he would fall for it.

Figure out where we need to be heading...you're too out of it to even know where we _are_!

"Town's that way," Sam suggested casually, reaching out to steady Dean whose brief spurt of energy was long gone.

"Yeah," Dean agreed warily. "Let's...let's go that way."

Sam couldn't help but smile as he draped his brother's arm over his shoulder again, this time without a flicker of resentment. Dean had looked out for him his whole life, even though Sam had treated him like crap. This time, Sam would look out for _Dean_ for once. And, Sam decided as he looked down the long road stretching out before them, he'd do it well.

* * *

Dean cursed under his breath as his legs buckled beneath him and he stumbled once again, forcing Sam to hold his weight.

"Fuck..." he seethed through gritted teeth, the pain making his eyes water. He needed to rest dammit, at least at home John would probably have beaten him unconscious by now.

"Dean?" Sam stopped, hovering in that irritating way he was prone to.

"I'm _fine_," Dean insisted, taking the brief rest as a chance to survey their surroundings. They were down a side street but not too far from the centre of town judging by the sound of the busy road. The buildings around were mostly derelict – closed down shops and abandoned housing. It wasn't the safest place to bring your fourteen year old little brother. A slap from John was one thing...what about a knife in the back from some street thug? Had he really done the right thing here?

"It's getting late," Sam observed and Dean rolled his eyes. It was an obvious statement, true, but a worrying one all the same. Dean had spent a few nights rough here and there, unbeknown to Sam of course, and it hadn't been easy.

"I know," Dean muttered absently, just to prove to Sam he was listening.

Dean was used to hunger, cold, sleep deprivation...pain. He could handle all that but Sam...it would all be too much for Sam. His priority had to be to get Sam somewhere safe and warm. That meant a hotel, which meant money, which they didn't have.

He could bust himself up – take them to a hospital. The injuries John had given him already were probably enough to warrant an overnight visit, if not longer. But that meant medical bills and it would be even easier for John to find them.

Dean groaned as he desperately searched his concussed head for more options. There had to be _something_. Why hadn't he thought to take money from John? Because then they could be arrested for theft and they'd be in an even worse position than before..._fuck_.

"We should check into a hotel," Sam suggested and Dean sighed at his brother's naivety. He knew Sam was only trying to help but the pain and exhaustion and fear made his words sharp as he snapped at the younger man.

"Yeah, right, check in with _what_ genius?" he glowered, his eyes narrowing as Sam smirked at him. The kid thought this was a _joke_? What the fuck was wrong with...

Dean's furious thoughts trailed off as he watched Sam reach into his duffle bag and bring out a wad of cash. A _thick _wad of cash. What the...

"Wh-where did you _get_ that?" Dean gasped, his eyes wide. "How much is there?"

"Three hundred and fifty dollars," Sam admitted, almost sheepishly and Dean felt faint, this time _not _from this concussion. He'd never seen that much money in his life, it was...it was amazing.

But a decade of relentless abuse and pain had bred into a Dean Winchester a deep seated suspicion of any turn of good fortune. Good things didn't happen to him, he knew it, so anything that _looked _like a good thing, even from the hand of his own brother, was suspect.

"How'd you get all this?" the elder Winchester asked, his eyes narrowing as he took the wad of cash.

"Pocket money," Sam replied and Dean faltered, he remembered John giving Sam ten dollars every week, certainly nowhere near this much.

"If this is pocket money then –"

"_Years_ of pocket money," Sam replied, staring at the ground as he admitted it. "You wouldn't let me buy you food, clothes, stuff so I...I saved it. For when we...for _now_."

Dean felt faint and this time it _wasn't _from the pain – Sam had sat on all this cash when he could have bought himself, well, whatever the hell he wanted! Sam had the foresight to think to save it when Dean had thought him clueless about the whole thing.

"Maybe you're smarter than you look," he smirked. This situation was so unexpected, so..._unusual _he honestly didn't have a clue _how _to react other than with his usual bitter humour.

"Yeah so...can we get a hotel for the night then?" Sam asked and it was _then _that Dean remembered they had been stood in the street for at least 5 minutes now.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, grimacing as Sam burst into a grin. "But not yet."

"What?" Sam protested, his face morphing into a mask of indignation. "_Why_? It's my money, we should-"

"Where do you think John will _check_, genius?" Dean snapped. "Hotels are too obvious, even if we use an alias. We need to get out of this town first."

Sam's words were small and afraid, almost lost in the barren darkness of the empty street. "But we don't have anywhere to go."

"I'll find us somewhere." Dean hoped he sounded more confident than he felt, giving a silent sigh of relief as Sam gave a timid smile, taking solace in the hollow promises of his elder brother.

Dean looked in his head for some words of reassurance, some glimmer of hope he could hold out to his little brother that wasn't built on empty hope and lies. "It's gonna be hard, Sam, but we have to do this so he won't find us."

Sam nodded, setting his jaw as his eyes hardened with determination and for a moment, Sam looked every bit the young hunter that John had always wanted Dean to be. "I know."

And then it was gone, and the daunted teenager was back as Sam turned worried eyes on his brother. "What happens if he does? Find us, I mean. What will he do if he-"

"He _won't_," Dean promised, wishing he could meet Sam's eyes as he said it. "He won't find us, I promise, let's go."

Dean clutched at his abdomen as he started walking again. The pain was still with him, something that he would carry for days, but everything else; John, the memories, the broken promises, he was leaving them behind now. And in their place? A handful of cash and maybe, just maybe, a handful of hope too.

* * *

It was only a sharp dig in Dean's ribs that stopped him ordering a single room. He hadn't even realised he was doing it until then and he wasn't too sure what _that_ said about his mind. That you're one pathetic little fuck up, he imagined – too used to sleeping on the floor to even order himself a bed in a hotel.

Sam handled the rest of the transaction as Dean tried to get his thoughts back into gear. He was doing alright until he caught sight of the mirror and, for once, _really _looked at himself. Most of the time, the only glimpse he got of a mirror was right before John smashed his face into it.

But now...there he was; messed up hair, a jagged cut down his forehead, one bruised, bloodshot eye, a dark purple bruise along his jawline... He looked a fucking mess – no wonder John didn't respect him, care about him, why would anyone respect him? Why would anyone look at that person there in the mirror and see them as anything other than a worthless punk? Respectable kids, good kids, normal kids weren't covered in bruises and cuts – they looked smart, liked Sam.

"Come on Dean," Sam was tugging on his sleeve, dangling the keys excitedly in front of Dean's face. "Let's go to our room."

And, as Sam began to drag him towards the stairs, Dean suddenly caught sight of the elevator. He remembered how John would never let him ride up in the elevator, no matter if he was carrying all their stuff...remembered how many times he had had to drag his body up the stairs, broken leg and all.

"Let's take the elevator."

"Dean, it's only on the first floor!" Sam was laughing, his eyes crinkled with genuine mirth until he turned around and his smile faded. "Don't be so..."

"I want to take the elevator," Dean repeated, feeling almost _nervous _at the thought. _Pathetic_.

"Oh...Okay!" Sam's speech faltered a little as he took in the meaning behind Dean's words and then tried to smile brightly like he was happy. But...Dean pondered as he took slow, cautious steps to the elevator. Maybe he _was _happy.

"Sam..." Dean was speaking partly out of curiosity and partly to distract himself from how nervous he was feeling as he pressed call button for the elevator.

"Are you happy? Right now?"

"Huh?" Sam frowned as he pulled Dean into the lift.

"_Dude_, of course I'm happy!" the youngest Winchester beamed. "We're away from Dad, he's not gonna hurt you again, _of course _I'm happy!"

"Yeah..." Dean pondered. And, as the heavy metal elevator doors closed on the reception lobby, he closed his eyes and imagined they were closing on his old life too as the elevator rode them up towards the future.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Sam was officially having the best time ever. Like seriously. They'd ordered pizzas and eaten them on the bed watching TV. He'd jumped on the bed like a trampoline and there was no Dad to yell at him. Dean lay spread-eagled on the bed after taking a warm shower for the first time in years. He was still sore but looked happier than Sam could remember seeing him like…ever.

Sam had told Dean in the elevator that he was happy. And he _was _happy. Really, really happy. And he didn't want to spoil that happiness by thinking about Dad and what they should do next but…he just wished they could stay in this motel forever, eating good food and watching TV and not having to worry about school or hunting or beatings or anything like that ever again.

"We should get some sleep soon, Sam," Dean says and Sam rolls his eyes at Dean pretending to act all adult.

"Dude, we can stay up as long as we want. That's the awesome thing."

"We have to leave early in the morning."

They did? "But why? The more you sleep, the quicker your ribs will heal."

"I wanna put another town between us and John by lunchtime."

Sam sighed as he listlessly picked the pepperoni off the top of his pizza. It had all sounded like it was gonna be loads fun in his head. Every time he'd put another dollar bill in his stash he'd imagined road tripping with Dean, all the cool places they'd go and all the fun they'd have. And he was having fun right now but…getting up early, sitting on smelly coaches surrounded by wierdos, probably sleeping in the cheapest motel they could find. He…kind of hadn't thought of all that stuff.

"How long before he stops looking do you think?" Sam asked, wondering when they'd be able to stop moving around. Where would they pick to stay? Maybe somewhere warm with a beach. After living in motels for so long, Sam thought it would be nice to live near nature, maybe near a park or…hell anywhere as long as they were away from Dad and his sick abuse.

Dean shrugged and then winced as if the movement had hurt his chest. "I dunno, Sam. I dunno if he _ever_ will."

"_Ever?" _Sam's eyes were wide and Dean shrugged again, gingerly this time.

"Not for you anyway. You _are _his son after all."

Sam turned his nose up at the unpleasant fact. "Yeah but I wish I wasn't."

Dean smiled a fraction at that. "You know, when I first came to live with John, I worried you might turn out like him. Like he'd brainwash you into believing the stuff he said and you might start to act like him."

It was weird to hear Dean talking so openly. Especially about the abuse or his childhood which he'd spent his whole life trying to keep completely secret from Sam. To hear him just talking about it…that was gonna take some getting used to.

"I'd never believe any of that shit he said about you!"

"I do, sometimes." Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean interrupted him before he could. "All day, every day, it's all I hear from him. Some of it's gotta sink in. But…anyway, what I meant was, it's a good thing that you hate him. It shows you're not a sicko like him."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "I don't want to be anything like him. When I've got a wife, we're gonna adopt kids and we're gonna give them the best life ever." It was like, if he could do that, it would make up for him not being able to help Dean…he hoped.

"And does your 'wife' get any say in this?" Dean smirked and Sam blushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed for blurting out his future dreams like a girl. "Is it that girl from the school in Virginia, what was her name…Penny…Penelope…"

"Patricia!" Sam yelled back, feeling his face blush bright red. Then he realised what he'd done as Dean burst into laughter.

"See! I knew you had a crush on someone back there! I knew…" the older Winchester trailed off as he wrapped his arms tightly around his ribs, groaning quietly.

Sam just smirked. "See? That serves you right for teasing me when I'm being nice."

"Listen Casanova, I mean it. There's a town about 30 miles South. There's a hunter's bar there. I thought we could see if there's any jobs going, try and make a little cash to tide us over for a bit. First bus leaves at 7 and you'd better be ready to catch it."

Sam had stopped listening at the word 'hunting'. "Dean you can't _hunt_. A few hours ago you could hardly even stand up."

"I'm-"

"You're not _fine_, Dean, so what's the point in saying it? If you go hunting you'll probably _die_. We have enough money to last for another few days and anyway, why does it have to be hunting? Why can't you just get a normal type job?"

"Sam, get real," Dean scowled and Sam sensed he'd hit a sore spot. But what the hell? Dean was being stupid talking about hunting and Sam wasn't in the mood to listen to it.

"I'm being 'real', Dean. Reality _is _having a _normal _job and a normal wage. Hunting ghosts and monsters isn't 'real' to normal people, Dean. It's not what people in the real world do."

"It's what _I _do," Dean answered back and Sam shook his head, getting more frustrated with every stupid answer his brother was saying. Was it too much to ask that Dean just thought like a normal person and not a hunter for once? He didn't even _like _Dad so why the hell was he _talking _like him.

"No, **Dean**," he replied through gritted teeth. "It's what Dad _forced _you to do. There's a difference. You didn't have a choice before but now you do."

"But that's just it Sam, I _don't _have a choice because…"

If Sam hadn't been so wound up he probably would have cared that Dean sounded upset. But he _was _pissed off and instead of being concerned about why his brother's sentence had trailed off into nothing Sam took it as a victory. For once, his smart ass big brother didn't have an answer to something.

"There's _always _a choice. Dad just made it seem like hunting was the only choice but it isn't. You don't _have _to hunt. You can just be a normal person and live a normal life, Dean."

"Normal people don't look like they've just walked out of a car crash, Sam. Normal people go to school. Normal people get their GEDs and their driving licence and go to college. I didn't do all that, Sam, I _can't _do all that. And now, neither can you. So no, we can't just 'live a normal life'. All I can do is hunt, and that's what I'm gonna do."

"But don't you get it? You _can't_! Your ribs and your head…you should be in the hospital!"

"You know why I can't go to-"

"So Dad doesn't find out," Sam interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I know. But what's the difference between living with Dad and not living with him if you're just gonna keep putting yourself through the same stuff he used to put you through?"

Dean looked surprised at that. Sam knew he'd hit a nerve as he watched his brother's expression change, becoming angry and defensive. "What the hell do you know about it? You don't know a fucking thing about what he put me through so shut up."

And for once, Sam did.

* * *

Bobby Singer yawned and rubbed the grit from his eyes as he dragged the curtains open. Opening his barren fridge, the hunter reached between the bottles of Jack Daniels and Buddweiser for a carton of milk that's only a day or so out of date. As he mixes it with the instant coffee, he half considers emptying the whiskey into the mix as well.

He didn't know what it was that made him look twice at the carton. Maybe he was just considering whether to throw it in the trash, maybe it was just an accident, or maybe it was his hunter's instinct which gave him a killer eye for detail. Whatever it was, Bobby Singer _did _look twice and when he did he saw one tiny picture and three words. MISSING: Samuel Winchester.

The carton tumbled from Bobby's hands as he took in a sharp intake of breath. And that was how Bobby Singer found himself standing in his kitchen, milk pouring in a puddle around his feet and a paradoxical mixture of hope and anxiety that made his stomach churn. And alongside that, there was another feeling, worse than all the others combined - guilt. He'd looked for the boys, of course he had, used every contact at his disposal to try and track them down – legal _and _illegal. But it turned out John Winchester was more cunning and devious than any demon Bobby had hunted before. Probably a damned sight more evil as well.

And now, in some fucked up way, the boys had found him. Or at least one of them had. Bobby grit his teeth and tried not to panic. He tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything that Dean's face wasn't there too. It didn't mean Dean was dead, just that John didn't give a shit. Dean was tough and…and last time Bobby saw him he'd been unconscious and bleeding to death…. Bobby shook his head and gulped down his still-scorching coffee. He had hunting to do, and this time he'd either find the boys or die trying.


End file.
